The Arrangement
by Addai
Summary: There is nothing Loghain Mac Tir would not do for his country, but an arranged marriage with a woman half his age is the last thing he thought might be required. Canon-based AU with Elissa as eldest. Spoilers for The Stolen Throne and The Calling.
1. Chapter 1

_Recently I had my first Dragon Age-related dream, and what bubbled up from my subconscious was the last thing I'd have expected. This story is the fruit of it. As always, Dragon Age belongs to BioWare. Thank you to SurelyForth for the preview. -A._

5 Kingsway, 9:24 Dragon Age.

He was not so much losing his independence as gaining a valuable hound. This was the thought Loghain Mac Tir tried to keep foremost in his mind as he stood at his second floor chamber window, watching the young woman playing fetch with her mabari in the courtyard below. Secondary was to wonder again exactly how it had come to be that three days hence, he and this woman half his age, Elissa Cousland, would be wed.

It had been Anora, of course. He had to marvel, not for the first time, how much could be moved by the crook of his daughter's little finger. She was not even queen yet, but he already had the impression that the highest circles of Ferelden had begun to revolve around her as their vortex. Maric still ruled, though his old friend was beginning to be distant and uninvolved again, as he once had after Queen Rowan's death years before. Loghain argued often with him, usually over Cailan. The lad seemed to him to be neither prepared to take over the throne nor serious about doing so. There was still time to work with him, but the best hope he had of becoming a competent king was to rule beside a strong queen. Loghain and Maric had always planned for that to be Anora, and Cailan had gone along with their plan willingly. Over the past few years, however, rumors had started to circulate that he had his eye on another candidate.

That candidate was now wiping mabari slobber off her hands and greeting a carter bringing in a load of wine for the wedding celebration. The eldest child of Bryce and Eleanor Cousland was a lively young woman, with a thick coil of copper hair, snappy amber-colored eyes, and more of a penchant for leathers and swords than salons and tea. _So much like Rowan._ That was the thought which Loghain tried most to keep at bay, but the idea kept asserting itself. He supposed it was not an accident. Most of Ferelden's nobility had settled into genteel life after the restoration, but Bryce and Eleanor raised their two children wild and roughshod, as though they still had the Orlesians at their heels. It was little wonder that Cailan was taken with her.

Anora had been forced to find a way to take Elissa out of the game while keeping the Couslands firmly in her orbit. Only she could have come up with a solution so unexpected and yet so perfect. It took a lot to wear him down, but eventually even Loghain had been compelled to agree. He had always said that there was nothing he would not do for his country, nor for his daughter. Taking a wife at his age, after so many years of bachelorhood, was a sacrifice he had never thought would be asked of him. He would rather have faced another Orlesian army. For a time he could console himself that Bryce would never agree to the match, but Anora got to the Teyrn of Highever, too. The biggest mystery of all was how she had persuaded Elissa. Probably with romantic notions about the Hero of River Dane, Loghain thought wearily. He did not look forward to witnessing the young woman's disappointment when reality intruded.

There was a stir of activity in the courtyard and trumpets sounded. That would be Maric and Cailan. Loghain had hoped by hosting the wedding at Gwaren rather than in Denerim that he could keep the fuss at a minimum, but of course Maric insisted on attending, and with that development went all hope of keeping it an understated affair. Loghain turned, resignedly, to don his cloak. Time to greet his royal guests.

Even with lines around his eyes and silver streaks in his blonde hair, Maric was larger than life. He and Cailan rode into the estate at the head of an entourage of royal guard, servants and Denerim's gentry. Loghain hung back, letting Anora and Elissa receive the king first. The contrast between the two women was stark. Once Anora had been a country maid, too, but Denerim had refined her. She was dressed in a silk gown, the blonde hair she had inherited from her mother perfectly coiffed. Lady Cousland's hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, she wore trousers and a velvet tunic, and there was mud on her boots. Still Loghain could not help but notice that Cailan's face lit up when he saw her, whereas he greeted Anora with rote courtesy and a quick peck on the cheek. Mac Tir wondered how long it would take for him to be cuckolded by Ferelden's crown prince. By all appearances, it could be any day now.

Then Maric was at his side. Loghain clasped hands with his old friend, smiling. After so many years of friendship and sharing the rule of Ferelden together the two men could say more to each other with a look than most could with a long conversation. Today Loghain's expression screamed _can't you get me out of this _while Maric's reply ran to _don't be such a ninny._

"You are always welcome in Gwaren, Maric," Loghain intoned, which was about as formal as he got with the king even in public. "I trust you have met my... betrothed?" He had to force himself to say the word. It stuck like a pit in his throat.

Maric put a hand on Elissa's arm as she approached. "Of course. Bryce has preened about her since the day she was born. Where is your father now, Elissa?"

"In the countryside, your Majesty. He is hosting a hunt tomorrow for our guests, and he and Fergus have gone off to scout the route."

"Excellent. We'll bring back some meat for the wedding table. And don't worry, I'll keep an eye on Loghain and make sure he doesn't sneak off." Loghain had expected Maric to be at his smirking best, and the man did not disappoint.

Elissa laughed. "Who will keep an eye on me, majesty?"

"Anora, of course."

That was a given. Loghain waited patiently for the banter to finish before showing the king and prince into the house. Not only the estate but the entire village would be packed full of guests, and small tent cities had sprung up in the Gwaren outskirts to accommodate the traveling merchants and minstrels who were using the occasion like a fair. This much Loghain himself had arranged, intending the incomes from the merchant fees to offset wedding expenses. His days as a camp follower during the rebellion gave him a frugal streak that never left him. Both the royal treasuries and those of Gwaren had benefitted from it. However, the tight space had meant that Elissa's rooms- once Celia's, and over the years kept just as she had kept them- needed to be used for royal quarters. The house steward had arranged this, assuming that for the first week the wedding couple would occupy Loghain's chamber anyway. In this instance the teyrn regretted his frugality and wished he had built a less modest estate. There were already female things in evidence in his chambers, even though Lady Cousland was sleeping in her parents' room for now.

Dinner was both jovial and enlightening. Jovial was a given when Maric was at table, and there were enough guests to respond to his and Cailan's native charm that the host could mostly sit back and silently observe. Loghain paid special attention to the Couslands. If he was going to be aligned with Ferelden's most powerful family outside the royal line, it paid to know where they stood. They all knew each other from the rebellion and from every Landsmeet since, but time could change anyone. If this marriage farce was proof of anything, it was that no alliance, not even a marriage contract settled in Anora's childhood, could be taken for granted. Bryce and Eleanor Cousland appeared to be enamored of one another and to be quite cozy with Maric, though they spoke once too often about their connections to Orlais. That would bear watching in the future.

At one point, out of the corner of his eye, Loghain noticed Cailan's hand straying towards Elissa's on the table. The lady subtly but firmly moved it back to its place. Loghain assumed she did so out of propriety. Regardless, he had no intention of playing the jealous husband. Even if it were not the sort of arrangement where such was out of place, he had endured enough years of seeing Rowan and Maric together that jealous impulses had been battered out of him. Elissa was a young and vital woman and he did not expect her to be satisfied with a dried-up husk of a middle-aged man. That Lady Cousland was discreet, however, spoke well of her. Loghain wondered if Anora would be as understanding. He tried not to think at all of the fact that father and daughter both had cause to be jealous over Cailan's conquest. Anora's own schemes had brought them to such a pass.

"Come have a drink with me, old friend," Maric said as the dinner was winding down. Loghain obliged with relief, ordering the staff that they shouldn't be disturbed. The constant well-wishing of guests was trying, to say nothing of the precious looks from both men and women alike.

"They're jealous," Maric laughed when Loghain commented on it. "And not just the lonely men who spent the last few years lining up at Highever Castle. No, don't pull that face with me. This isn't the first time a woman has petitioned to become your teyrna. Just the only one you actually accepted."

"These are precarious times, Maric, though I know you don't like to see it," Loghain responded darkly. "We cannot rest on laurels."

"Don't start again with your cranks about the future of the realm. This is a happy occasion and we aren't going to argue about the kingdom." Maric was pouring Antivan brandy for them both.

"It's always about the kingdom, and you know that. This is no different."

The king made a face as he handed Loghain his glass and sat before the fire. "Fine, fine. Let us discuss a few matters that are on my table, then." For a time they went over kingdom business, discussing the year's harvest and some new ships that Maric had commissioned. He was determined to see a royal navy built, and for once Loghain did not think it a bad idea despite the cost. Coastal raiders were always a hazard, and always there were the Orlesians. They had learned how treacherous the mountains of their border with Ferelden could be and might turn more creative in future. Maric himself was set to test out the flagship once the winter storms let up. Loghain had not been able to talk him out of going, despite the danger. It seemed now the one thing for which the king had any enthusiasm at all.

At a lull in the conversation, Loghain felt Maric's eyes on him. The king's voice was earnest. "Don't come back to Denerim unless you bring her with you."

Loghain grimaced. "Now we come to it. Do not speak to me of romantic fancies, Maric, I won't hear them." There was more to it than this, more reason than his bachelor modesty that Maric's words rankled. Shortly after Rowan's death, Loghain had left his wife and infant daughter behind in Gwaren and gone to Denerim. The new Theirin king and their young, unruly kingdom needed him, and it was easier to focus on that than to remember that Celia and their young daughter needed him, too.

The king pressed on. "Maybe it is a romantic notion, but hear me anyway. We have given our lives for our people, Loghain. Always it was for Ferelden, just as you said. By and by, now and again, if we find some small measure of comfort and happiness, is that such a terrible thing?"

"Are we speaking now of me or of you?" Loghain did not bother to soften the accusation in his tone. There had been someone for Maric after Rowan, though the king refused to tell him who the woman was. According to Maric, it was at her request and to protect her. Loghain only knew that somewhere along the line a son had been produced of the liaison. Maric had been circumspect about when it had begun, too, which led the teyrn to believe it might even have been in Rowan's last years, when she was merely the shell of the vibrant woman she had been in her youth. Hence he had not inquired more energetically, though in truth his duty demanded that he do so. Loghain hadn't wanted to dredge it up. The fact that Maric had so soon tarnished Rowan's memory by finding solace in another woman's arms was bitter, all the more bitter because Loghain could not really blame him for doing so. The weight of their duty was crushing, and Maric had always wanted to be loved.

The king was meek as ever on the subject, confessing readily. "Of us both, my friend. I know you like to pretend you're made of silverite, but you're just a man. Never forget that. I won't always be around to remind you. If you have a pretty young wife who's willing to do so..."

"Stop. Enough." Loghain belted back a draught of brandy and reached for the bottle.

Maric was smiling again. "Go on now. Try to tell me that you aren't a _little_ pleased at all this. She is pretty, you know. And spirited. A very Fereldan girl, I always thought."

Loghain rested his face on one hand, looking depressed. "There are few enough of those in the nobility. Denerim stinks of Orlesian perfume."

"It was inevitable. We could keep out the chevaliers, but our own people want the nice things and fancy manners they remember of the occupation. They consider them marks of our success, the rewards of peace."

"How quickly they forget what that peace cost us," Loghain grumbled.

Maric nodded. "It's true. I know you think I'm partly responsible for that, but at least I've got you around to remind them of the other side."

"I won't always be here, either."

"So do what I did, and make a son in your spitting image to carry on the memory." Loghain scowled fiercely at this remark, provoking the king's laughter again. "You do remember how it's done, don't you?"

The teyrn's voice was dry. "No, Maric. Why don't you describe it to me in fine detail."

"Eh, I'd just get it wrong. But there's this book I found Cailan sneaking around with, _The Art of Passionate Love_ by Brother So-and-So. Banned by the Chantry, I understand. Very enlightening." Maric wore a mischievous grin.

"Tell me, wouldn't you rather go sit with the women? I'm sure they'd be much more entertained by all your sly chatter than I am."

Loghain's scowl had softened to a wry grin. It was probably the wine at dinner and now the brandy, but it felt a little like old times, before there had been a woman between them and a kingdom on their shoulders. Perhaps there was something to what Maric had said, about happiness still a possibility even with so many years of struggle behind them and the pressures that remained. One thing he had learned the hard way, however, was that no happiness, not even the smallest, came without a price. He wondered how dear the price would be for Lady Cousland.


	2. Chapter 2

_Andraste's knickerweasels! Thank you for all the kind reviews. It is humbling. Future updates may come a little more slowly, but this story is demanding to be written and I'll do my best to obey the muse as much as making a living allows. _-A.

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Kingsway 6, 9:24 Dragon Age.

Maric's suggestion that Anora keep an eye on the new bride was not going to work out after all. Over protests from her mother and the seamstress working on final touches for the wedding dress, Elissa insisted on accompanying the hunters. Anora herself considered joining them but declined at the last moment. It had been a long time since Lady Mac Tir's hands held a bow, and her ideas of seemliness had changed since then. She would have to rely on her father to keep an eye on Cailan.

Though he had spent most of his life elsewhere, Gwaren teyrnir was well suited to its lord and vice versa. It was an unruly land of rocky coasts, bogland and moor, all hard up against the vastness of the Brecilian Forest to the north and the Korcari Wilds to the west. The people were hardy, no-nonsense, and cared little for the things that preoccupied Denerim or Highever. What mattered to them was the catch, the harvest, the felling of timber and the rising of ship masts. Out of sight was out of mind, and unless one loitered around the docks, the rest of Ferelden was mostly out of sight.

They had not escaped Ferelden's suffering, however. In Gwaren, the king was more than Maric the Savior; he was a godlike figure. During a hopeless hour in the rebellion he had emerged from the Deep Roads like a herald of the Maker, turning the teyrnir's sturdy folk once and for all against the usurpers. The town's residents had come to love and respect their teyrn like one of their own, but Maric they revered. Thus even though the hunting party set out when it was barely dawn, the streets were lined with shouting well-wishers.

It was not only Maric but Elissa they had come to see. Amidst the hails and "Maker bless you's" directed at Maric, there were a few calls of "Maker bless the teyrna" as well, and a few women ran up to give her flowers cut from their back gardens. Loghain could not but smile a little at this. Gwaren was conservative and people did not fawn over nobility like they might elsewhere in Ferelden, to say nothing of the Empire. They had also loved Celia and mourned her. She had been truly one of their own, a commoner, and Loghain had wondered if they would accept a much younger, highborn replacement. The flowers and cheers were sign that they found some promise in his marrying again. Even if he was not thrilled at being caught up in Anora's little game, that was at least something.

The crowds followed them for a time, but Gwaren's rough terrain made it no leisurely ride and the gawkers soon turned back to their breakfasts. The hunt was properly on then. Loghain kept to Maric's side, instinctively scanning the surroundings. It was a longtime habit to watch the king's back; more of a calling, and so natural to him that it lifted Loghain's mood to be at it again. In Denerim there were too many dusty meeting rooms and too few outings in the country.

Elissa rode with her father, her mabari Cutha at her horse's heels. Meanwhile Fergus and Cailan terrorized the landscape with boasting and idle chatter more than bow and arrow, so their take was predictably thin. The rest fared better. Gwaren made for rough farming, but its thick forests were full of game. Loghain noticed that Elissa had some skill with the difficult art of shooting from horseback. Few others of the hunters could say the same. It seemed true what was spoken of the lady, that in her twenty-four years she had spent as much time studying the arts of war as any knight. Given this, Loghain wondered if Lady Cousland had had any intention of marrying before Anora's messengers came knocking on the castle door. Perhaps she had been expecting to inherit. That seemed likely. There were few women who held titles independently, but it was not unknown and surely she was capable.

At midday tents were struck and a meal put forth, good ploughman's fare as Loghain liked it. He and Maric retreated to the tree line somewhat away from the others, spreading out cloaks to keep out the damp, and ate their meal. Afterwards they lounged, talking over who from the guest list had come, more importantly who had not come, and whether there was any political meaning in it. The bannorn were ever unruly. The freeholders of Ferelden's fertile middle announced "I think I'll mount a rebellion" the way other people said "I think I'll take a walk after supper"; sometimes it seemed like they were just looking to pass the time. It would probably curdle Anora's milk, but Loghain still respected the fact that most of the guests were arls and royal courtiers and that the bannorn had stayed away. It would be harvest soon and it was sensible for them to attend to their lands and not some spectacle of a wedding. If there was a deeper meaning in any of it, the bannorn would not be shy to let them know.

Mac Tir was stretched back, one arm slung across his eyes, when Maric cut off mid-sentence. Lifting his arm, Loghain saw Elissa and started up, asking brusquely, "Yes? Are those layabouts ready to move?"

Elissa was nonplussed by the rude greeting. "_You_ are the only ones laying about, my lords, and no, the company is still at ease. I thought... Teyrn Loghain, I thought perhaps we might walk a bit."

Loghain and Maric exchanged looks, the teyrn's eyes flashing with terror. Maric managed not to laugh. Instead the king stood, retrieved his cloak and shook the bracken from it. "I should be mingling with the guests anyway. Excuse me, Elissa. King's work is never done, you know." He managed to keep his smile mostly hidden, even when Loghain's expression turned from anxiety to pleading.

Picking himself up from the ground and collecting himself at the same time, Loghain glanced at Elissa and mumbled in a gravelly tone, "As you wish, my lady. I am at your service."

Elissa turned and walked along the treeline until they came to a deer path that wended into the forest. Her war hound bounded ahead and disappeared into the trees. Loghain, too, found that he was terribly fascinated with the trees, the moss, the rocks at the side of the path, anything but his walking companion. "I am sorry for the interruption," she offered after they had walked a time in silence. "It is only that since our arrival from Highever, you and I have never had a chance to speak alone. It would be odd to get to our wedding day before that happened, wouldn't it?"

"My lady, this is all quite odd. Surely I am not the only one who thinks so."

She laughed knowingly. Loghain took a quick glance at her. The young woman's auburn hair was disheveled, curling with damp and with the sweat of the morning's exertions, and her cheeks were ruddy with the cold mist. If she had been a casual stranger at a hunt like this, he might have noticed- the way one notices any pretty woman- that she was fetching despite her careless ways. Other men might take a second look and decide she was too careless, and too confident, but Loghain had never been one for parlor ladies with milky skin and limp hands. Rowan... but no, he would not think of that. He trained his eyes forward again as Elissa answered, "It is strange, I admit. You don't know me, but be aware that I am not naive. I know why Anora wanted this alliance, so I understand why you agreed to it. I wonder if you understand my reasons."

"You're free to keep them to yourself if you prefer." It was not just pragmatism behind his words. He was not sure he wanted to hear his assets and detractions listed out like a goodwife might bandy over a haunch of lamb at the butcher's. _Too much gristle for the high price_ would no doubt be the verdict. "It doesn't really matter, does it? One way or another, for one reason or another, it's going to happen. Unless you have changed your mind?" Had Cailan gotten to her already the night before? That Maker-damned, winsome little milksop. He had a talent for such things, no one could deny it.

Elissa spoke quickly. "No. No, I haven't changed my mind. I suppose it _doesn't_ matter, when it comes to that. Except I thought you ought to know. Cailan is charming and has always been good to me, but... forgive me, Teyrn, may I speak frankly with you? Very frankly?"

"Call me Loghain, and yes, I wish you would."

She nodded and took a breath. "Though Cailan and I have been intimate in the past, it has been some time now and I have no desire to renew our intimacy. However, I have had to be careful with him. Men are so fragile, Teyr... Loghain. I'm sorry if that offends, but there it is."

Loghain chuckled ruefully. "No need to apologize. I agree completely." He was fascinated by these revelations, though it would take some time for him to digest them. So Cailan had ploughed the field. Yet if what Elissa was saying was true, Anora's fears were unfounded and the whole wedding arrangement might be safely called off. Loghain wondered if Elissa realized the implications of what she was saying. Was there some hope of getting his neck out of the noose after all? Inexplicably, Loghain felt a flicker of disappointment.

She went on, "Very good. But you see, Cailan will be king someday- Maker preserve King Maric- and I must think of my father's and Fergus' standing in a realm where the king's attentions have been spurned by a Cousland. There are many advantages to an alliance between Highever and Gwaren, but this is the consideration that presses on me most." Elissa seemed to have finished what she wanted to say, expelling a breath and casting a testing glance at Loghain.

Ah. So the good of the kingdom still did demand their marriage. Loghain could see the difficult position the young woman was in, and understood better why she was so friendly with Cailan and yet not overly familiar. She was trying to put the prince off until she could safely use his relation to Loghain as an excuse. Simply to turn him down might wound Cailan's overweening pride, but even he could not take much offense at an appeal to family and politics. Loghain walked silently, hands clasped behind his back, and considered the irony that as it turned out, it was not the crook of Anora's little finger that was driving this arrangement, but the crook of Cailan's other appendage.

Finally he spoke up again. "I thank you for your honesty, Lady Cousland."

"Elissa. Or, Ellie, if you like. That's what Fergus calls me."

"Ellie. I did notice Cailan's interest in you you and wondered if it was welcome. As I said, it doesn't really matter, but I am glad to know your mind all the same. Such an entanglement would have been complicated for both of us." Maric always said he had a flair for understatement. "I am a man of my word. I agreed to this marriage and I will see it through. I do wonder..." Loghain stopped and Elissa also halted. Til now the teyrn had barely made eye contact with his prospective bride, but he made an effort to do so. He was glad to see that her expression was serious, sober, not starry-eyed. "I wonder what you expect of me. Of this... alliance of ours. I will do my duty to you as best I can, but I'm a man who likes to know where the lines are drawn."

Elissa smiled, repeating "duty" under her breath with an ironic tone. Loghain's expression remained grave, and his stare seemed to discomfit her finally. Shaking her head, she looked away and stumbled, "I... I don't know. Friendship? That we would be allies of a sort. I am much younger than you, and I know my life has been easy compared to yours, but am I wrong to think we have some things in common? As for the rest, I suppose I thought we could figure it out as we go along." She glanced back, lips parted as though poised to say more.

It was a good answer, reassuring, though Loghain was still wary of hidden expectations. There were always those for both him and Maric. He had long since gotten over the absurdity that people called him a legend, but he had to deal with the effects of hero worship all the same. People wanted to put him on a pedestal, and just as many wanted to cut him off at the knees. In one conversation he had learned that his future wife did not intend to cuckold him- at least not with Cailan- and that she seemed willing to strike a path between the pedestal and the knee-chop. It was a surprise, and Loghain found himself touched by it despite his reservations. The promises of the young did not mean much and she would have to do more than this to earn his trust, but Elissa spoke with a reassuring maturity and practicality and that was at least a good start.

He suddenly had the wild notion that he might kiss her. Just a brief peck on the cheek or even the lips to seal their understanding, nothing unseemly. It was preposterous, something Cailan would do, or even Maric, but his lip twitched with the impulse before he dismissed it out of hand. Maric's talk of comforts and pretty wives the evening before was putting foolish notions in his head. His young betrothed had proved a level-headed sort, and here he was turning dotty.

"That seems reasonable," he answered her finally. "You are aware, I'm sure, that I was married once before, and probably you have heard rumors that I was neither the best husband nor father. Anora herself might have told you that." He paused, but then pushed on without waiting to hear what he knew was true. "I don't expect I have improved much with age. Maybe I have learned a lesson here or there, but still, your end of this bargain is a poor one and there is no need to beat around the bush about that."

Elissa smiled. "You are worried about your age? It is not as much an issue as you seem to believe."

"No?" Loghain crooked a brow as they began walking again, back towards the hunting party.

"You have held up very well." Elissa was smiling, and Loghain found himself... blushing? Yes, likely that was the painful heat creeping up on his neck. Maker's breath! Anora had much to answer for that he had to play such wooing games again after all these years. The teyrn studiously avoided Elissa's eyes as she added, "I am sure it is because you train with your soldiers and do not only sit back giving orders."

"That was never my style," he agreed, glad to be talking about something other than his physique.

"And you are taller than I had pictured, though I only saw you once or twice at the Landsmeet, and I was younger then."

Back to his physique. The reappearance of the mabari behind them on the path, maw filthy from rooting in the forest, gave Loghain an excuse to change the subject. "You know I had a mabari once. Her name was Adalla."

He fell silent then, face grim, and after a moment Elissa prompted, "Yes?"

"Nothing. It was a long time ago." He had been ready to tell her the story but found he could not. Even to speak that name had been a departure. He had not done so except with Maric and Rowan, and once with a hound who regarded him with perfect understanding. However, Elissa had shown him trust and deserved a little of it in return. What he offered her was paltry, but it was all Loghain had to give at that moment. He felt raw. It didn't help matters that when they re-emerged from the forest, Maric was looking at him like the a cat that ate the canary, and Bryce Cousland like a hawk might eye the field mouse.


	3. Chapter 3

8 Kingsway, 9:24 Dragon Age.

"Stop fidgeting."

"Do you even remember how to do this? I should call Harel back." Loghain was trying to reach behind his shoulder to tie the straps on his pauldron, but Maric unceremoniously pushed the hand away and continued on with the work himself.

When the lord of the house had not appeared at breakfast, the king came to find him pacing and growling orders at an elderly elven handservant who was laying out pieces of armor. An untouched breakfast tray sat cooling on the side table. Maric was himself dressed in dark green velvets, so he needed no squire, and mercifully dismissed the harried servant to take over his friend's wedding preparations himself.

"Not everyone in Thedas is squired by a king, you know," Maric protested.

"The kings would be better off if they switched places with their squires once in awhile. Look at you. Fat as a Satinalia ham and clumsy as the jelly dribbled on it."

"Psh. Big talk. You still owe me a sparring match when all this is done. If the new teyrna gives you permission." The chatter was, for once, relaxing for Loghain, though he still felt like he might be headed to a battle that day rather than a sedate Chantry affair. And then Maric had to ruin his tenuous mood altogether, adding, "Ser Cauthrien should be doing this. Never have I seen a longer face than hers when we parted with her at the gates. Why did you not bring her?"

"Someone must see to things in Denerim while you and I are flitting about."

Maric shook his head and moved to dress the other shoulder. "It was cruel. She would like nothing better in life than to be where I'm standing right now." He paused, then added, "Or to be where Elissa will stand shortly."

"Curb your tongue, Maric," Loghain snapped. "Cauthrien is a fine warrior and dutiful second. I'll not tolerate disrespect of her even from you."

The king raised a brow. "Disrespect? The matter is plain for any to see, Loghain. There is no shame in it."

"Nor is there any reason to discuss it. So enough!"

Maric whistled softly. "I hope Elissa wears armor to bed tonight. She'll need it to endure all the bristles."

Loghain scowled but said nothing as the king stepped back to examine his handiwork. The Armor of the River Dane, taken from the Orlesian commander at that great battle, was worn with age and showed evidence of repairs many times over, but it had been polished to a fine burnished gleam for the wedding. Maric crossed his arms and regarded his friend while Loghain also looked himself over, brushing at the finish with a cloth, though there wasn't even a dust speck to wipe off.

"You know, for all that you say you do not wish people to fawn over you as the Hero of River Dane, you wear this armor a great deal," the king pointed out mildly.

"It is a symbol, Maric. We must carry the burden of memory..."

"Like a heavy weight, I know." Maric considered, then asked, "So we've got the memory covered. And what about the future? That's what this day is about, isn't it?"

"So you came here to talk philosophy with me, did you," Loghain grumbled. The teyrn stepped a few paces to retrieve his greatcloak from where it was laid out. It was black, embroidered with the sigil of a golden wyvern. Later that morning he would put it around Elissa's shoulders, a symbol of taking her into his house. As the custom went, it also symbolized taking a woman under one's protection, but Loghain had seen enough of Lady Cousland to know that she could do that for herself very well. Wryly he thought that if she were marrying many a man other than him, including Cailan, by rights she would be draping her husband. At least House Mac Tir could stand on its own.

Maric was silent, waiting, and Loghain was buying time for himself to answer the king's question by fiddling with the cloak, trying to settle it around the pauldrons of his armor. As Maric approached to help him fix the clasps, he finally declared, "The future takes care of itself when one does what one must. I shall serve the kingdom, of course. And keep you out of trouble. Beyond that, what am I to say when I know so little of this girl?"

"You know you'll still be thinking that after years of marriage, so you might as well get used to it," Maric replied with a sad smile. "But I didn't ask about the kingdom or about what Elissa wanted. I would like to know what you hope for. I don't buy all these long faces for a minute. There must be something you want out of all this."

Loghain was silent, tapping his gloves on his hand, and after a long moment gave a reply that surprised even himself. Quietly he said, "I would like a son." Even as he spoke the words, their truth became plain to him, striking deep. Never consciously in all the wedding negotiations or preparations had he formed the thought, but in years past he had wished the same, while Celia still lived but their different spheres made it impossible. She told him that she did not want to raise another child on her own, and Loghain let the matter drop without another word. Perhaps the Maker had given him another chance, however unlikely. "Yes, I would like a son, "he repeated. "If Lady Cousland will suffer me that much."

Maric appeared startled, obviously not expecting that reply, or at least for it to be so plain-spoken. Loghain glanced at the king, uneasy with his admission. They had been joking about this very thing a few nights before, but at the time the idea had sounded far-fetched. It occurred to him that simply seeing Ellie the previous few days had called the idea forth again. It was a strange thought. Defensively he explained, "Gwaren needs an heir. Anora will be queen, so there is no one to inherit here. Ferelden is not exactly rife with noble stock and there are even fewer who are worthy of their titles, so who else would there be?" That was not the whole reason and he knew that Maric could see through it, but Loghain let the justification stand.

Maric gathered up his own cloak. Coming round to where Loghain stood, the king reached out to clasp his friend's metal-clad arm. Mac Tir regarded him evenly. No matter how many years passed, sometimes when he looked at Maric all he could see was the blonde-haired youth who stumbled out of a forest, mud- and blood-soaked, so many years before. He had been a terrified princeling then, fleeing the Fereldan lickspittles who had just put a sword through his mother. Everything had changed in that moment for both of them. Without Loghain, Maric would have been dead of cold or of the sword before that night was out. Without Maric, Loghain's father might have lived longer, but they both would likely have ended up hanging from a gallows eventually. Instead Loghain went on to fight in the rebel army that unseated the usurpers and sent them back to Orlais.

Much had changed, but in so many ways they were still the same boys. Except now Loghain noticed that there were dark shadows under Maric's eyes, and lines at their corners and on the king's forehead that were not just from smiling. He had been so wrapped up in his own predicament that he had not noticed before now. He opened his mouth to say something when Maric spoke again, cutting him off.

"Let's go get you started on that little project, eh?" The king then grinned and turned to leave.

Ellie and her family were waiting in the foyer when Loghain and the king came down. Other houseguests were mingling around, and Loghain felt eyes on him as he approached the Couslands and bowed. After that he stood stiffly before them, uncertain what to say. _Let's get this over with_ came to mind, but he held his tongue. It was Maric who came to the rescue, telling Ellie how lovely she looked. The teyrn supposed that she did. She was certainly cleaner than he had mostly seen her since their arrival from Highever. Lady Cousland's dress was a bright blue velvet, embroidered in gold, and around her shoulders she wore a white cloak emblazoned with the laurel wreath of Highever. Her hair was pulled up simply, fastened with a plain gold clasp. The young woman looked nervous, fingers working the edge of her cloak. Loghain wondered if she was wishing for a sword and something to hit, as he was.

The Chantry would have its due, however. Half an hour later, Loghain was standing in the candlelit chapel, head bowed, while Ellie knelt on one knee at his side, both making their formal prayers before the brazier. Gwaren's small Chantry was rustic, almost barbaric looking, compared to Denerim's cathedral. It was wooden, for one thing, which did not mix well with the sacred fires, but the people liked the style nonetheless and insisted on it. It had echoes of Chasind architecture and likely hearkened back to some memory the Gwaren folk had of the days before Andraste. The structure was also far too small to host the entire wedding entourage of the teyrn, so the Revered Mother had given special permission for the ceremonies to be held outside on the green. Most of the party was waiting outside for the wedding couple to make their pieties, sign the roll with _Maric Rex_ as witness, and discreetly slip the Revered Mother her Maker dowry.

Afterwards the procession continued on to the green, Ellie and Loghain walking side by side with Maric and Cailan just behind them, Anora and the Couslands coming along after. Townspeople were leaning out of windows and against garden fences watching the procession, calling out their well wishes. Later on there would be ale and cakes for anyone in the village who cared to have them, which would be every last one of them.

Before that there was more chanting, more incense, and more entreaties to upright living and faith in the Maker. Loghain found it curious that in the wedding chant, comparisons were drawn between the bridal couple and the Maker with his bride Andraste. It did not seem complimentary to be compared as husband to a distant and jealous god. Was that supposed to rate as a good example? He cast a sideways glance at Elissa. Her face looked white. Perhaps she was equally unimpressed with being compared to a woman who was betrayed by a jealous husband and sent to an execution pyre. Nearby sat Cutha the mabari, patiently watching the ceremonies with his tongue lolling. Someone had tied a white ribbon around the hound's neck as wedding decoration. Loghain made a note to draw up a statute declaring such an act a capital offense.

The bridal couple had not spoken a single word all day apart from a quick "good morning," though when it came time for him to remove Ellie's Cousland cloak and drape her with the crest of Mac Tir, she smiled at him. Loghain returned the smile, or at least tried to, his mouth half curling. They were expected now to make a chaste kiss. The teyrn leaned forward, recalling from his previous experience that slow was better for aim, and a steadying hand on the woman's waist helped, too. The touch of their lips was tentative but not unpleasant. He caught a whiff of sweet herb from her hair.

Finally the praying was done, the cheering commenced and then the mingling began, making Loghain wish that the prayers had lasted a little longer. He had been in official life for twenty some years, however, so he soon fell into pattern. It was the first chance he had had to observe Cailan, and the sight of the prince struck him dumb. The lad's eyes were reddened and his face looked haggard. He might have been hung over, but he looked too lucid for that, huddling with Fergus and a few others of their age, avoiding Anora, and casting longing glances toward the bride. _Andraste's blood._ Loghain had always assumed that Cailan's interest in Elissa had been a dalliance, an infatuation, but the truth was written plainly on the boy's face. He _loved_ her.

Loghain turned his gaze once more towards Elissa. She was standing with some of the other ladies, arm resting on one hip as she balanced a cider mug in her hand. He saw her smile and laugh, though it was a polite sort of social laugh rather than true mirth. Mac Tir's mind raced back to their conversation in the forest, when she had told him that she didn't wish to renew intimacies with Cailan. She had seemed so sure of herself that Loghain assumed she was truly not interested. But what if she was? He tried to remind himself that it didn't matter. They were doing their duty, doing what was best. It had been more comforting to think of Elissa's affections being free, however.

As Loghain spied Maric in the crowd, it suddenly became clear why it mattered. They had done it again, involving a younger generation this time: Made war on affections because the kingdom demanded. Loghain had loved Rowan and she loved him, but he sent her to marry Maric anyway. He had hidden his anguish better than Cailan, but then the Theirins always wore their hearts out plain to see. Now it was he, Loghain, who was taking another man's beloved to wife, all so that that man- _Rowan's son_- could be compelled to marry a woman he didn't love. The ironies were so twisted that it hurt to follow them. Perhaps the comparison to Andraste, the Maker, and her spurned husband Maferath was apt after all.

Embroiled in these thoughts and feeling sick to his stomach, Loghain didn't notice the man at his elbow until he had likely been talking for some time. Finally the teyrn registered the presence of Rendon Howe of Amaranthine. The man was exceptionally ugly and seemed a small, mean sort, but not many who had cut teeth amidst the tortures and degradations of the occupation were jolly fellows. Maric always stood out as an exception in this.

"Yes, what is it, Howe?" he asked gruffly, only belatedly remembering that he was at a party and not a lord's council.

The arl stuttered. "Uh, yes. I merely came to express my best wishes on your nuptials, Teyrn Loghain. A great day for the honor of Gwaren and Highever both. As I was saying, you are a fortunate man, since I have been trying to convince Bryce these many years to give me Elissa for my eldest, Nathaniel. I had almost given up and tried the younger son, but alas..."

Loghain cut him off. "I'm sorry to hear it. Give Nathaniel my regrets."

The arl gave an oily smile and said, "I have sent him to the Free Marches, my lord. Perhaps the military life will be more suited to him than marriage."

"It would have continued to suit me, for certain," Loghain answered irritably, and walked off, leaving Howe sputtering behind him. Maric started toward him through the crowd but Loghain nimbly avoided him, withdrawing to the edge of the green and leaning against a tree, back turned to the assembly. After a time it was not Maric who found him, but Elissa. She still wore his cloak.

"My lord, you are unwell?"

Loghain turned and regarded her helplessly. Though he knew little of women, he knew enough to know that she would not want to hear that he was thinking of another woman, a woman long-dead and not even his former wife, on the day he had wed himself to her. "I am sorry, Ellie," he muttered. "I am not being a very good host." Nor a good husband, but he could not bring himself to say that. It seemed ludicrous that this woman was now his wife.

Elissa hesitated, then reached up to touch his cheek. Loghain flinched, startled by the gesture, but she did not seem to be offended at his reaction. Her hand lowered. "You worry too much." Unlike the tenderness of her fingertips, her voice was blunt.

Loghain pursed his lips. "Perhaps I do. Long habit, my lady. I have had a lot of things to worry about."

"Yes, I know. And you still do." Behind them there was the clanging of pots announcing the wedding supper. Ellie glanced over her shoulder and then back to him, saying, "Come eat something, Loghain. But let me help you get those gauntlets off first. Did you think we were being invaded today?" Without waiting for his permission, she reached for his arm and began undoing the straps on the armor. She was much more deft at it than Maric.

At another time, Loghain might feel annoyed by her impertinence. He was used to giving orders, not being ordered about. At that moment, however, the teyrn felt as meek as a child and made no protest.

"Thank you," he muttered softly, watching her intently as she worked the straps.


	4. Chapter 4

_Continued thanks for the fabulous support in reviews. What a nice surprise to find my crazy ideas well received. In answer to reviewer questions, I might be off my rocker, but the plan is to take the story through the Blight. And, now we move into Mature rating, for good reasons. Word to the squeamish. -A._

"Strange that it should be a wyvern."

Loghain was seated with his elbow leaning on a side table, trying to look dignified even though he was in his bedclothes. He had been rendered to that state by a band of giggling schoolboys otherwise known as the great lords of Ferelden. It was at his bedding that Loghain truly began to regret that he wore his armor that day, since he was subjected to that much more ribbing and degradation while the men fought to get it off. He had hoped the women would be kinder to Elissa, though judging by their cackling as they dumped her on the bed next to him, her torture was no less severe.

As soon as the tormentors left, Loghain jumped out of bed, poured wine for Ellie and the stiffest whiskey in the cabinet for himself, and took his seat. She sat alone on the bed, knees tucked in, looking at his ceremonial shield over the hearth. The teyrn followed her gaze and replied, "There may have been dragons of various sorts in this part of Thedas at one time. There were many fearsome creatures in the Wilds, and still are, though I doubt there are any wyverns left."

"I mean, strange that it should become your sign when you were made a teyrn."

Loghain fell silent, staring at her, trying to take her measure. Was she mocking him? Everyone knew that he had come from common roots, a farmer's son and later on little more than vagabond. Maric had knighted his father a few minutes before Gareth Mac Tir died covering his and Loghain's escape, and had later given Loghain the teyrnir of Gwaren as boon for his service in the rebellion. Which was a fine way of saying the king gave him a heap of trouble and a bunch of pomp Loghain didn't want. Still, the position was necessary and he took pride in having filled it ably even as he assumed royal duties as well.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he asked coolly.

Ellie looked up, catching the danger in his tone. "I... all I meant was that you are the Hero of River Dane, and a dragon heralded that battle. Now your sign is the wyvern. Dragons seem to follow you, that's all."

"I see." Loghain looked away, suddenly ashamed as he reminded himself that Elissa had been nothing but respectful and trustworthy towards him. It was an old habit, a bad one, that he always felt he had to prove Maric's faith in him. Even after so many years, even as a war hero and legend, sometimes it was thrown in his face. He was not the only one who had been elevated for service in the rebellion, but he was the most powerful, and that meant his commoner roots could be used against him.

Glancing at her, Loghain brushed a hand over his chin and said, "I did always like dragons. When I was a boy, we had a book that showed all kinds, wyverns too." It was a feeble attempt at conversation, he knew, but he had to try something.

"We had a book like that, too," Ellie answered, smiling.

Loghain nodded, returning her smile with a muted one of his own. Dragons followed him, but the thought was not a comforting one. River Dane, that was a great victory and a necessary one, yet the memory for him always included seeing the valley stained red, and it had been followed by three more years of battle. As for the book of dragons from his childhood, his memories of that were obscured by the image of it being waved in his face by the beasts who destroyed everything good he had ever known.

The book had been one of the few that his family owned, a bestiary of fantastical creatures. As a boy Loghain had pored over it and loved it so much that he began to draw his own versions of the creatures in the empty spaces. Dragons tearing Orlesian soldiers apart had been a favorite theme. Gareth took a strap to him when he discovered the desecration, but afterward put the book back in his son's room. Loghain was good at drawing. Too good. The Orlesians who came for them needed no pretext for their savagery, but they set upon his mother soon after tearing the book apart. Afterward he had borne silently the nagging guilt that his drawings were responsible. Loghain forced these memories away, unreasonably angry at Elissa for prompting them.

He looked up, realizing that a long silence had passed. _A__thrilling__wedding__night__for__certain.__Be__sure__to__tell__all__your__friends,__my__lady._Bryce, at least, would be pleased to hear how it had progressed. "At any rate," Loghain mumbled, "I like the wyvern. It is fearsome and a noble creature, but a high dragon would be too lofty for me, after all."

Ellie stretched back on the bed, pulling the covers up and saying, "I don't even know why we chose our device. I'm sure my tutor told me at some point but I can't remember."

The sight of her made his heart pick up its pace and he forgot his irritation. Stretched out as she was now, he could see the outline of her breasts against the fabric of her nightdress. Loghain belted back another drink of whiskey, this one a little shakier than the last, and tried to find his train of thought again. Something about dragons. Giving up on polite conversation, he blurted, "I shall sleep here if you prefer, Lady Cousland. That is, I do not expect any... courtesies from you." Blast it all, this had not been so difficult with Celia, even though he hadn't known her before their marriage for much longer than he had been betrothed to Ellie. However, they had both been young, had freely chosen one another, and the pressures that eventually weighed on their marriage did not emerge until later.

Ellie's eyes were on him, he could feel it. There weren't enough curses in Fereldan. At last she spoke up, tone firm. "You shall certainly not in a sleep in a chair, my lord. Not on my account."

Loghain glanced at her and saw that her expression was as serious as her tone. He was being ridiculous, of course, acting like a blushing maiden. Meanwhile _Elissa_wasn't even a blushing maiden. Leaving the rest of his whiskey, Loghain shuffled to the fire, played with it aimlessly even though it had already been banked down, then came around to the other side of the bed and climbed in. The pair lay in silence until both began talking at the same time.

"This..." That was Ellie speaking, and Loghain fell silent, gesturing for her to continue while keeping his eyes trained on the canopy. "What I meant to say was, this needn't be complicated."

"No?"

"I am not a maid, you know that. I have had several lovers, in fact. I am sorry if that offends you, but I can't change it now. If you do not wish to lie with me, I shall make no demands. We can be partners in other ways and I will never speak of what happens here to anyone." The young woman had said this all in one breath and then took another, this one rather ragged.

Loghain turned to look at her. She had her eyes trained upward and was fidgeting with her hands again, twisting the edge of the bed-covering, yet once more she had taken him by surprise with a clear mind and plain speech. After a pause he declared, "You are a remarkable woman." Ellie turned her head towards him, eyes widening. Seeing her surprise, Mac Tir realized that up to that moment he had not paid his new wife any compliment, not even so much as he might idly do with a stranger. It was poorly done on his part.

He let his head fall back, considering her words. It had been so long since he had lain with any woman. After Celia's death he had succumbed a few times to the women who offered themselves to him. They were everywhere around the circles of power, though Loghain had only ever paid coin for such attention, never royal favor. Rather than ease his loneliness, however, the encounters made him feel base. Though he was always as careful and courteous as one could manage in such an exchange, it reminded him of the Orlesians, who had looked upon every common woman as their whore and every whore as their battering dummy. And so he had learned to live without female company, which for a man in his position always brought complications. Ellie was his _wife_, however. They were expected to consummate the marriage; indeed it would not be a binding marriage if they did not. It was his duty, if nothing else. She was willing, and there was no doubt that his body was responding to her.

Turning, Mac Tir sat up on one elbow, reached a hand and placed it lightly on her abdomen. "If you are willing then..." he began, and was surprised when Ellie slid closer without hesitation, looping her arm around his shoulder so that they lay coiled loosely together. With this encouragement, Loghain firmed his touch. She was a slender woman, but under his hand was a rounded rise of stomach that was pleasingly soft. In the remnants of firelight he glanced at her face. She was watching him intently. By Andraste, she was beautiful. He could admit it fully now that she was so close and had given him permission to gawk at her, among other things.

Loghain leaned forward and kissed her, hesitantly at first, soon more expertly. It was their first real kiss and he let it last a while, touching her hair and letting his hands run along her arms. As he did so, he checked her response and found it more enthusiastic than he had expected. Blood pounded in his head at the thought that she was not just doing this by rote. She actually wanted him, at least what he could give her in these acts. Breaking off, he brought his hand up to pull at the laces of Ellie's nightdress. A breast came free and he cupped it, kneading. It was ripe like the feel of her stomach had been. He closed his eyes and bent down to take it into his mouth. Ellie murmured appreciation, and when finally his hand slipped between her thighs, he had no further doubt that she was as keen as he was.

They both began to tug at their nightclothes. When these were tossed aside, Mac Tir rested back and had his first look at her. Her martial training was evident in the solidity of her limbs, but Ellie's skin was still pale and soft with youth, unmarked by scars except for a small nick on her arm that likely was a practice mishap. Scars Loghain had aplenty, head to foot, most of them old but still evident. His hands were roughened and criss-crossed with them. The contrast between the lady's youth and his coarseness made Loghain hesitate once more. Even compared to a shield maiden, he was a brute, and no doubt her other lovers had been easier on the eye. All reticence was damned to the Black City, however, when Ellie's hand moved to his thigh and closed around him. Gasping, Loghain clutched the sheets. _That_ was a sensation he had not felt in a very long time, and the fact that she was an experienced lover became arrestingly clear.

They moved together again and Loghain pressed a deep kiss into her mouth, but also pried her hand away from its mesmerizing grip. Even though he was no youth, he would not have endured that motion very long. Eventually Ellie pulled on his shoulders and opened her legs beneath him. He took the invitation eagerly. They soon fell into a rhythm. Her limbs were strong, and she was not shy in her responses_.__Rowan_. once more it struck him how much she reminded him of Rowan, not only in her manner but now in the feel of her. Entwined in Ellie's muscular limbs, so unlike Celia's but very much like Rowan's, Loghain's body remembered sensations that his mind had buried. He knew that he should fight the memory, but it crept in uninvited anyway and he closed his eyes and savored the illusion, allowing it to spin a few moments. When he very nearly let Rowan's name escape his lips, it shocked him back to the present and to his senses.

Abruptly Loghain stopped. He paused, catching his breath, then reached across to the side table and turned up the oil lamp. Ellie opened her eyes in surprise. "Is something wrong?" she asked worriedly. The teyrn didn't speak, only shook his head.

Elissa watched him as his gaze and eventually his fingers moved over her face. Loghain did so slowly, methodically, learning the contours, fingers tracing across her nose and cheeks and lips, ignoring the ache in his own body. At last he reached up to cup her cheek, eyes locking with hers. She was not Rowan, and was all but a stranger to him, but she had given up much for this and was caught up in the game just as he was. Rather than resent him or be cold to him, however, she was all warmth and kindness.

"Ellie." His voice was thick as he said the name, which already had a familiar ring to it. Elissa held his eyes a moment, then smiled and leaned forward to kiss him, plying fingers in his hair to pull his head close. She had a smallish, sweet mouth, and when his mind flitted to how that mouth would feel elsewhere on his body, Loghain could not bear the pressure any longer. Moving to find her center again, he pressed himself into her and rocked quickly, Ellie urging him along with her own movements. It would not last for long, he knew. He reached up to stroke her hair and bury his fingers in it as the heat of their coupling built again until his end came. An overwhelming relief flooded him. He had missed this, and had not even realized how much.

Only when the rushing in his ears receded did he realize Ellie was still moving against him. He eased back, replacing his now-slackening member with fingers which he moved quickly and gently in the same rhythm. After a few very arresting moments, her body arched as his had and she expelled a deep sigh. With the blood still rushing in his head, Loghain cradled her, caressing her breasts and kissing gently along her cheek and neck.

Falling back, he trained his eyes upward and let his breath catch up to him and the shaking subside. It was difficult to grasp what had just happened. He had expected of this night something perfunctory at best, embarrassing at worst. Running a hand across a brow plastered with dark strands of sweaty hair, Loghain suddenly wondered if embarrassment was still called for. He turned towards Ellie.

"Are you... alright?" he asked, uncertain how to phrase his mixture of relief and concern.

Ellie nodded, and after a moment reached across to brush a hand along his cheek. It was the same comforting gesture she had made earlier that afternoon. He did not flinch away from her this time. Neither of them seemed inclined to talking, so Loghain simply returned her nod and muttered, "Good. That's good." He then extinguished the oil lamp and lay back again, pulling up the covers. Ellie kept a small distance between them, but even so, he was acutely aware of the heat from her body across the slender space. It was going to be difficult to sleep.

So it was. Sometime in the night as a rainstorm lashed the windowpanes, both of them awoke. Spontaneously and without a word they began to kiss and suckle fiercely until finally Ellie climbed astride him. Half-awake as they were, it was unthinking and instinctual, and Loghain had never experienced anything quite like it with any other woman. When he awoke again towards morning, he would have thought it had all been a dream, including the entire wedding, but for the fact that his young wife lay beside him and the signs of their lovemaking were still on their bodies.

The rain had let off, splatting gently on the windows. Elissa was lying on her back, limbs askew. His fingers twitched with the desire to touch her. There was movement further down, too, but with his higher faculties returned, Loghain cautioned himself. She was a young woman and obviously neither short on desire nor on boldness, but that did not mean she would always welcome him like she had in the night. It had been perhaps nothing more than a vital woman sating herself with an available man. For an arrangement such as theirs, that was far from the worst thing that could happen. In some respects, it was better if that's all it was. Their standing in the realm and the type of marriage they had made was the kind where both he and Ellie would have to keep a clear head to their duty.

Ellie's eyes opened and blinked a few moments before she turned, looking startled. After a moment, she smiled and mumbled in a voice thick with sleep, "I forgot where I was."

_In__Gwaren.__With__your__new__husband.__Like__it__or__not._Those thoughts the teyrn kept to himself. "Good morning, Ellie. I should..."

"Loghain. Don't go." She caught his arm as he was about to get out of bed. He turned back, lifting a brow in surprise. "I just want to lie here."

He could hardly deny her. Resting back, he glanced at her uneasily, unsure what she wanted him to do. After a moment Ellie slid over to him and, as careful as though she might break him, curled against his chest and rested a hand on his side. She closed her eyes. Hesitantly he reached up to stroke her hair, and sometime later they both drifted back into sleep.

They were shaken awake at the sound of shouts from the hallway, raucous laughter, and insistent knocks on the bedchamber door. This was the rousting, a demand for a new couple to get out of bed for the wedding breakfast. Loghain ignored it at first, keeping his arm firmly around Ellie's waist. The pranksters were insistent, however. Finally he turned and bellowed an ear-splitting curse at the door. The shouts turned to laughter, and eventually the crowd drifted away, having gotten their reward.

Ellie laughed as well. "We had better go," she said, pushing lightly on his chest. They fell away from one another and climbed out of bed. When they had both washed and dressed, Loghain took several parcels out of a cabinet and handed them unceremoniously to her.

"They are presents," he explained, gesturing at them. He then paced away and leaned against the wood-paneled wall, waiting for her to open them.

It was custom for a husband to give a bride gift on the morning after the wedding, and Anora had assumed responsibility for choosing it. That was well enough for Loghain, since he had no idea what a young noblewoman would consider appropriate. He was less pleased with at seeing that his daughter chose a shawl of cream-colored _Orlesian_silk. Nevertheless Ellie opened the shawl and made the proper exclamations of its beauty before turning to the second package.

Anora's gift _was_ beautiful, Loghain had to admit, much to his chagrin. It was also suited to what a fine lady would want. However, after seeing Ellie's performance at the hunt, the teyrn had decided he wanted to give her a gift of his own choosing. He spent the following day making the rounds of the leatherworkers in Gwaren until he found a material supple and fine enough. Afterward he sat glowering in the corner of the workman's shop until the man had produced, on the spot, a pair of archery gloves suited to a woman's hands.

When Ellie opened the package and pulled out the gloves, Loghain straightened and gestured at them. "The engraving, that is the wyvern surrounded by a laurel wreath. It was probably a bad idea, wasn't it? Your family's crest should stand on its own, as mine should also. Well, you are a fine archer. Perhaps you can get some use out of them anyway."

Ellie stood silent, staring at the gloves. Finally her eyes lifted and Loghain tried to interpret what he saw in them. Surprise, he thought. And there was a slight glisten of tears. Was it really so bad? Time to exit, then. He was moving towards the door when he felt Ellie's hand on his arm. As he turned back she stepped towards him and slipped her arms around his back, resting her head lightly against his chest. Stunned, Loghain stood rigid a moment before stiffly bringing his arms up to encircle her.

As he realized that she must be thanking him, Loghain relaxed and his arms drew her in more firmly. They stood like that a time, and in those moments it occurred to him to wonder if Elissa made all her lovers feel this way, feel as though they were good men who meant something to her, and if that was why they pined for her. It didn't really matter. If all he got were a few moments of pleasure and tenderness with a woman of such quality, it was more than he had expected to ever know again.


	5. Chapter 5

11 Kingsway, 9:24 Dragon Age.

If two great bears were snuffling around a clearing, it would feel something like the meeting between Bryce Cousland and Loghain Mac Tir. The air was so fraught that Harel, Loghain's half-deaf elderly valet, came in with the tea service to ask if his lordship needed anything, then scuttled back out faster than Loghain had ever seen the elf's bandied legs carry him.

Most of the negotiations about the alliance between Gwaren and Highever had been completed before the wedding, so there were only details to hammer out before the Couslands' return to Highever. The details were sometimes the most contentious, however, and it had been a long afternoon. Loghain had had to forbid Anora from sitting in on the meeting. His daughter had interfered enough in his private life and he did not want her to think it could become a habit.

Bryce wielded enough influence to daunt other men but not Loghain. The teyrn of Highever could be all smiles and amiability on the surface, trusting and compliant much like Maric. When it came to his daughter, however, he was hard as granite. That was something Loghain could understand, but he had a daughter as well, and people who looked to him. Both had been able to come to a compromise on the shipping fee concessions Bryce wanted, since in the end it would be good for both teyrnirs. On a clause that would allow Elissa to inherit Highever if there were no other heirs, Bryce was immovable. At least he saw sense and agreed that the clause should expire with Elissa's death. Leaving that out might have resulted in some colorful wars among her heirs down the road.

Those who knew the real reasons behind the marriage might say that it showed that Cousland had no great ambitions, since otherwise his daughter might have been queen. Loghain knew differently. In Ferelden the path to power lay not in the palace in Denerim but in the landholders. In so many ways, Maric had his hands tied by them and not the other way around. By enriching Highever, Bryce was ensuring the greatest possible foothold on power for himself and his heirs. As it stood, one woman had a foothold in the country's two greatest teyrnirs. Even though she had given up first spot in Highever, Elissa was potentially the most powerful woman in Ferelden. Loghain had to admit that in the end, Bryce might have outplayed Anora after all.

Not only Bryce, but Elissa herself. There was a good chance that Anora had met her match and not only for Cailan's attention. The idea that Ellie might be still playing the political game stirred an uneasy feeling in Loghain. He had known her only a scant few weeks, but already the idea that her affection and good humor might be part of a game stung him more than he had believed possible. The bite reminded him that he should remain cautious. He could not afford to be carried away by foolish notions. Such games wearied Loghain immensely, but it was necessary to play them for the good of those who looked to him, including Anora.

"I've had several stern letters from Eamon," Bryce put forward as their meeting was winding down.

"Have you?"

"Full of polite, bitter complaints about how bad this marriage alliance is for the country."

"Funny. I've had several letters from Eamon, too, all of them dripping with honeyed congratulations and proposing a visit here once his Orlesian wife gets over her sniffles." From Bryce's wry chuckle, Loghain knew that they both understood what was afoot.

Though Redcliffe was only an arling, it was powerful and rich enough that it ranked almost as another teyrnir. Eamon was an esteemed figure in the Landsmeet because of his family's role in the rebellion, and since Redcliffe had accepted responsibility for the mountain passes, they claimed a lucrative cut of trade from Orzammar and Orlais. Highever had its corner on international shipping. Compared to these two, Gwaren was somewhat at a disadvantage since it had to stand alone on its rich mineral and timber resources. Fortunately, Gwaren had many of those, and it liked to stand alone. The three regions had thus been able to maintain a triangle of power that revolved around Maric but only loosely. With Gwaren and Highever joined in a prestigious marriage, Eamon was afraid he was being cut out of the loop. He obviously had thought to pour honey in Gwaren and vinegar in Highever to try to gain back advantage.

There wasn't much more to say about that to Bryce, however. Loghain would have to talk to Maric and let him know that Eamon was complaining. Changing the subject, he observed, "So you are planning to leave tomorrow. Ellie will not be happy about that."

Cousland gave him a sharp look. "I know how my daughter feels about it. She also understands that we do our duty. Highever is without any of its ruling family, and if we wait longer we will hit the autumn storms and need to go overland. I must get home." He looked down at his hands and paused, adding, "Besides, Elissa does not need us hanging about. This is her home now."

Loghain studied him. It was the closest thing to a crack in the ice that he had seen. Scratching his chin slowly, he tried to think how he should respond. Even if he were inclined to give Bryce cheap assurances, which he was not, the man would not believe them. "Look..." he began, nearly changed his mind, then plunged ahead anyway. "This was not what any of us saw coming down the road. That much is plain. But may I say...may I just say that Elissa is a fine woman. Most people would say I am a lucky man."

Bryce leveled his gaze and his mouth twitched once. In a voice low and firm with conviction, he replied, "Yes, you are."

* * *

The Couslands might have been going for an outing in the country rather than leaving their daughter behind in Ferelden's hinterlands. They clustered in a loose circle in the foyer of the estate, chatting about the journey and laughing about who was going to vomit first. There were subtle signs of the tension, however. Eleanor looked pale and Bryce's expression was also strained. The humor ran to the gallows sort. The scene reminded Loghain of many such during the rebellion, when comrades and families were split, the future unknown. It was peacetime, but all recognized that nothing would be the same.

Ellie's mabari barked for a bit of attention, and lapped Fergus' hand when the boy bent down to pet him. Afterwards he ambled over to where Loghain stood apart, and sat back on his haunches to watch. The teyrn glanced down at him, marveling that the dog understood perfectly well that he was staying behind. Loghain had stood with arms crossed, waiting for Ellie to make her farewells. His role as host and- Maker damn it all, as _son-in-law_- meant that he had to be there, but there was no doubt that he was the odd man out. In another life he might have had a family scene like that, but not in this one.

Ellie's brave face seemed to waver at the last farewells. She exchanged fierce hugs with her parents, and finally came to Fergus. Placing hands on the boy's shoulders, she leaned in, touching her forehead to his. The two siblings stayed like that a moment before Ellie kissed his forehead and ruffled the hair that was one shade darker than hers. "If you don't write to me, I'll have Mother nag you to death."

"Write?" Fergus was clearly horrified at the idea. "What am I supposed to write about?"

"About all the trouble you're not getting into."

"Uh, that... would be a really, really boring letter. And you know I'd start them all with _Dear Smelly Ellie_."

Elissa grinned. "Of course. Who else is going to call me that now?"

"I'm not writing any stupid letters, forget it." The boy glanced at his parents who were waiting by the door. Turning back to Elissa, his face pulled in a grimace and leaned in, saying, "_You_ were supposed to have Highever." The lad seemed put out, as though _he_ had been cheated out of something, rather than gaining the front spot for one of the most powerful seats in the country.

"That is up to you now, Fergus," Loghain heard Ellie murmur in return. "You know what father says. A Cousland..."

"Does his duty, right, right." He rolled his eyes a little, but didn't object when Ellie pulled him into a hug.

"You have to go now," she urged, though she was still hanging on to him. "The ship is waiting. Take care of Mother and Father."

Fergus' reply was muffled by his sister's hair. "I love you, Ellie."

After they had gone, Elissa smiled briefly at Loghain and retreated upstairs. He was to meet Maric in town, but followed after her to check on her, the dog padding along behind. She was standing at the bedchamber window looking down into the courtyard when they came in.

Loghain watched her. She did not seem upset, but assurances were probably a good idea anyway. "We'll be in Denerim by spring," he began. "It's not so far from Highever, you could always..."

Ellie turned and stepped over to him, pulling him inside and shutting the door behind. Cutha just got through the door in time, and ambled to his new favorite spot, the bearskin rug by the hearth. Incredulously Loghain watched as Elissa began tugging at the laces of his tunic. "What..." She shook her head and pulled him into a kiss. He only remained impassive for a few moments before he gripped her arms and moved with her to the bed, his body responding to her urgency even if his mind had a hard time catching up to what was happening. So much for caution.

Since the wedding they had spent afternoons strolling around the village, watching the minstrel players and visiting the fair merchants, and evenings they attended dinners hosted in Maric's honor and theirs. Every night he and Ellie had then come home late and made love with little talking or fanfare. Loghain had very quickly adjusted to the idea that for now, until she tired of him, Ellie meant their marriage to be a physical one. A life of celibacy had never been his choice; it was something that his position and a reluctance to bring another wife into those pressures had forced upon him. He had been prepared to restrain himself also with Ellie, but since she was willing, his body had already begun to feel a new vigor and new expectations. Simply the sight of his young wife could cause a stir in him.

Elissa's urgency now was obviously more than physical, however. When a few tears slipped down her cheek, Loghain stopped his motions, turning with her until they lay side by side. He regarded her silently. She seemed to be fighting the reaction, trying to wipe away the tears as fast as they fell. Finally Loghain reached up to help, brushing at the remnants with his thumb. Leaning forward, he pressed his mouth to her ear and said low, "I am not your family, and I know I am not the man you would have chosen. I am sorry, Elissa."

The words had the opposite effect he intended, for she wept more vigorously then, putting her arms around his shoulders and burying her face in his neck. Loghain could do nothing but hold her, rather stiffly. The storm was brief, however, and when she finally rested her head back on the pillow, she laughed, apparently embarrassed at the show of emotion. Reaching into the bedside table, Loghain pulled out a kerchief and handed it to her. Afterward he waited, hand resting on her hip, wondering where the wind was going to blow next. He had never been any sort of judge of women to begin with, and his new wife left him more perplexed than usual. After a moment Ellie reached over to brush the hair from his eyes and pulled him back to her. With relief, both at having a line to charge and at being able to finish what they started, Loghain readily complied.

When both were satisfied, he held her a few moments before untangling himself. "I apologize, I must leave. I am to meet Maric in the village. Are you alright, Ellie?"

"Go," she answered, pushing on his arm. "Do not keep the king waiting." With a quick kiss, Elissa got up herself to use the washroom. Loghain dressed hastily. He was late and Maric had probably already given away half the royal treasury to Gwaren's shipbuilding guild for their part in the royal navy construction.

On his way out, Loghain nearly tripped on the maid from Highever. The middle aged woman, Anya by name, had been the cause of another nasty debate with Bryce and Eleanor. If Bryce was like a great shuffling bear, Eleanor was a polecat, and when Loghain met the idea of a _mage_ attending Ellie with vociferous opposition, she had shown her claws. Obviously Bryce had wrested retainer rights from the Circle, and he wished the woman to stay on as his daughter's attendant.

Ellie actually sided with Loghain in opposing the idea. She had never had a lady maid and did not want one. Anya stood by watching the nobles bicker with a look of amusement. She had a broad, rather homely face, dark curly hair and a figure that could best be described as lumpy. Taken together with her common garb, she could have passed for any fishwife or tradeswoman. The mage was apparently a healer, however, and in the end they were won over by the argument that while Ellie needed no common bodyguard, one with Anya's special skills could be useful. The mage had concluded the discussion by proclaiming, "That's settled, then. What's for supper?" Eleanor, her claws retracted once again, had pulled Loghain aside and delicately confided that the woman was "a bit touched in the head." That had made Mac Tir feel so much better.

The mage was standing silently in the hallway, hands folded in front of her. Loghain got the impression she might have had her ear pressed to the door only moments before. Regarding her with a narrowed eye, he spoke gruffly. "Please see if her ladyship needs anything, then do not disturb her this afternoon unless she asks it, is that clear?" The woman made no reply, only gazed at him skeptically. Loghain gave a grunt of disgust, turned on his heel and left. No good would come from that woman, he knew it.

Maric hadn't given away half the treasury, but close enough. The men and women in the sweaty-smelling guild hall were all laughing at some joke of the king's when Mac Tir arrived. He went to Maric's side and they spent another hour hashing out the details of the proposed construction. The craftsmen pointed out, as Loghain and Maric had already gleaned, that ships would be easier to come by than sailors to man them. Fereldans did not take easily to the sea.

Afterwards Loghain and Maric took a walk along the quay, royal bodyguards trailing them at a distance.

"How fares Elissa?" the king asked as they strolled.

"She'll be alright."

Maric nodded, understanding. She _would_ be alright, but she wasn't then. "I saw Bryce and Eleanor off this morning here at the docks. They looked a little grey. I reminded them that you are an honorable man and Elissa could have done a great deal worse. I thought I even caught you two smiling at each other at dinner last night. Secrets, already?"

Loghain snorted and was about to make a sarcastic reply, but instead he paused. Though these two had known each other for many years, and despite the fact that they depended on each other, a great deal could go unsaid between them. Loghain decided it was time to plunge into one of these unspoken areas. "How much do you know of Cailan's feelings for my new wife, Maric?"

The king looked surprised, but not overly so. "Oh, he is fond of her, I know, but he will get over it. An infatuation of youth."

"I am not so sure about that."

Maric shook his head. "No need to fret about it. Cailan knows what he is about and he will marry Anora just as we'd always planned. If there are some hurt feelings over Elissa, he'll bear up. You'll see."

Glancing sideways, Loghain could not help but think that Maric was being a bit _too_ blithe about it. The king had had a youthful infatuation once, too, one that nearly cost them the rebellion, so he ought to know what sort of power such attachments could hold. Maric had always had blind spots about his son, however. Loghain decided to drop the subject, instead bringing up the letters from Eamon.

Maric laughed and shook his head when he heard. "Ah, Eamon. He thinks he's being clever but he ought to see he's not good at this sort of thing. His intrigues are as subtle as being hit in the face with a side of beef. The man was always upset we never offered him a place at court, so he tries to do his best from a distance. I probably would have given him what he wanted, if Teagan had been willing to take the arling, but Junior would rather sit on Lake Calenhad with his fishing pole. Not that I blame him, Maker knows." There was a heaviness to the king's voice when he said this, a longing, that was familiar to Loghain. Maric had never wanted the kingship; it was thrust upon him by his heritage. He had risen to the occasion, but once had confessed that so many pieces of him had shriveled in the process that he wondered that there was any left. On the worst days, he had mused how nice it would be simply to throw the signet ring in the ditch and walk away.

"Perhaps he should let his Orlesian wife handle the intrigues," Loghain observed drily.

"Yes, well. I was as upset as you and many others about him giving the usurper a place in our nobility, but apart from terrorizing her staff and browbeating her husband, Isolde hasn't shown any sign she intends to overthrow the country just yet." The king fell silent and his expression sobered. They walked silently a time before Loghain finally realized that something rare was happening: Silence. Maric not talking was never a good thing.

"What is it? Is there something about this Orlesian woman you aren't telling me?"

The king's mouth twisted thoughtfully. It was another full minute before he spoke again, but when he started, it was in a deliberate and steady stream. "My son's name is Alistair. He is in Tewellyn cloister north of Redcliffe, studying to be a templar, though I have taken measures to see that he doesn't have to take Chantry vows if he doesn't want to. When we return to the estate, I will give you a letter authorizing that if something should happen to me and to Cailan, he is to be put in the succession. But _only_ then, and _only_ if the country is in dire need of a king. Someone they will look to as they look to me, though by the Maker I will never understand why they do."

At first Loghain didn't think he had heard correctly, but when the words registered, he stopped and stared. Maric kept walking a few paces then he also stopped and turned, gazing out at the water lapping against the pilings. It took a while for Loghain to find his voice. He kept it low. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"I was going to do this later, but it is something I should have taken care of long ago." Finally Maric braved a glance at his friend, and Loghain thought the shadows under his eyes looked deeper. The king's voice turned earnest, almost pleading. "Promise me, Loghain. Promise me that you will not trouble him unless there is no other choice. I want him to be free of me. Free of my legacy. Promise me."

Mac Tir lifted his chin. It was time to separate his feelings about this from his duty and act as royal counselor. Besides, the past few days had taken the wind out of some of his ire over Maric's dalliance. He was thus able to broach something which only a week ago would have made his blood boil. "Why not just recognize him openly, Maric, and be done with it?"

A look of pain passed over the king's face. After a pause he replied, "I want to, but that would not be a good idea. For a number of reasons."

Loghain nodded. Apart from the fact that the people loved Rowan and wouldn't like a bastard suddenly appearing out of nowhere, having a second son available in the succession was dangerous. Primogeniture meant little in Ferelden, and Loghain would be the first to argue that Cailan needed all the help he could get if he was to follow in his father's footsteps. Those who wanted to undermine Cailan for their own ambitions would use a second heir as a pretext, whether the boy was any more fit for the job or not.

Still, if this was truly the king's son... "If the boy is yours, then he is in danger. I sincerely hope you aren't trusting in the Chantry to mind your interests, Maric. Need I remind you how fluid their loyalties can be?" Under the occupation, the Chantry had aided the usurpers, and it was only by the piety of the common people that they retained a place in Ferelden at all.

"It's taken care of, Loghain. He is better off where he is now than... well, he is better off. He'll be educated and trained in battle. He's good at that, I'm told." Maric smiled briefly, wistfully, before going on. "I do not only have the Chantry looking out for him. No need to remind me about them. The Grand Cleric would never let me forget that she answers to an authority higher than mine."

Loghain sighed heavily, almost a groan. "Maric, how am I to aid you in running this kingdom when you keep so many secrets from me? Who are these mysterious helpers? Who is this boy's mother, and is she going to show up someday demanding rights from you? I just want to know which parlor maid is really a maid and which is the royal mistress."

He had gone too far, he knew it, though the look in Maric's eye would have been warning if he hadn't. Firming his mouth, the king spoke slowly, emphatically. "That is not something you ever need concern yourself with. Loghain, I am counting on you. Do as I ask, and no more. Do I have your word?"

The two men regarded each other, continuing their struggle with their eyes as they had in words. Finally Loghain expelled a weary breath and replied, lifting his hands, "Of course, of course. I'll forget the boy exists unless you and Cailan are swallowed up by..." He stopped and tilted his head as something else occurred to him. Carefully he asked, "And what of Anora?"

Maric's expression remained sober, but the look he gave Loghain was a knowing one. Whatever else happened, Anora would do what she had to do. If it meant marrying a half dozen Theirin men in succession, that is what it would take. This recognition passed between Loghain and Maric without any words, as though it were already a deal done in stone. Nodding once, Loghain said heavily, "I understand. We will do what we must, all of us."

"Maker help us," Maric agreed softly.

A few days later there were more farewells, this time Maric, Cailan and Anora with a large entourage of royal guard and other hangers-on, including dwarven and human traders heading north to Denerim. Ringed as they were with royal guard, there was no safer caravan than this one. Still, parting from Maric made Loghain uneasy.

"You're sure?" he asked as the two of them approached the king's mount.

"Stay. You know as well as I do that it is the right thing to do. A teyrnir shouldn't be without its lord too long, and Elissa will have time to learn the land and the people. Cailan and I can manage that long. I promise not to give away the kingdom, even if I get very, very bored."

Loghain didn't smile, but his eyes softened a little. "Fine. Until spring then. Mind yourself, Maric."

"I almost always do, old friend. You mind that lovely wife of yours." Maric wagged an eyebrow, to which Loghain only shook his head and waved the king off dismissively.

As he turned, he came face to face with Cailan. The prince's demeanor was more subdued than his usual jaunty self, but he did not have the pathetic haunted look he had carried around on the wedding day and a few days after. He smiled at Loghain and they clasped gloved hands.

"Goodbye, Loghain. And congratulations. We will miss you around the palace."

The teyrn was surprised that Cailan was being so cordial, but perhaps Maric was right and the lad would take it all manfully. If he did, it would be a welcome sign that he was growing into his station. "You will. You'll be counting the days til I return, since I told Cauthrien to see to your practice schedule. Don't let your father go soft, either." He clasped Cailan's hand more firmly before letting him go with a tap on the shoulder. Though the prince frustrated and worried him, in many ways Loghain had been as much a father to him as Maric had over the years.

Cailan turned without another word to where his squire waited with his mount. The company then had only to wait for Anora. She emerged from the house moments later, hair pulled back in a bun and dressed in riding leathers. They suited her so much better than the finery she had taken to, though she would have grimaced to hear Loghain say so. She approached him and gave him a serene smile. "Goodbye, father." Leaning in, she added in a low voice, "Thank you for this." Her blue eyes flicked briefly, coolly, to where Elissa stood talking with Maric.

Loghain regarded her with a wry smile. She was obviously nonplussed with the idea that she had pulled the strings on two lives, two families, and two powerful political centers. It was what she was trained to do. The world moving for her purpose seemed like the natural order of things to her. "We all do what we must, Anora," he answered quietly. Few who overheard would hear fondness in his voice, but both father and daughter knew it was present. Anora smiled and nodded.

He stood back and watched as Cailan helped Anora into the saddle and the royal guard formed up their lines. Seeing the crown prince and Anora together, Loghain thought it was a mercy that at least the two were so keen on ruling. There were not half dozen people in all the land who understood what it really took to keep the realm together, and most of them were right there in the courtyard. The rest of the common folk need never know how the sausage was made, though they lived by its fat or its lean all the same. Loghain had once known what it was like to be free of such responsibility. Anora never had, not for a single day of her life, nor had Cailan. Their fathers would never be able to explain to them how they sometimes woke up wistful about nights spent under the stars fleeing for their lives from lickspittle bannorn, considering it preferable to a palace echoing with whispers. The teyrn's mind turned to the boy Maric had mentioned, the bastard son he had hidden away in some monastery. The boy did not know how fortunate he was.

Trumpets sounded and slowly the column began to move. It was a stirring sight, arms and armor gleaming, the hounds-rampant banner of Theirin at the head of the line. At towns and hamlets all along the route, people would run to catch a glimpse. The more civic-minded might even know why the king was abroad and mention that the Hero of River Dane had wed again. The main thing they would talk about around their cups, however, was having seen Maric the Savior and the good prince Cailan, Maker bless them both.

Maric turned in the saddle to lift his hand and shoot his friend one last grin before they departed. Loghain returned the wave, his mouth inching towards a smile. Meanwhile Ellie came to stand beside him. When the royal entourage had finally disappeared through the gates, Loghain turned to her, and the couple regarded each other silently. It was just the two of them now.


	6. Chapter 6

_I must pause again to thank the irreplaceable SurelyForth. Without her urging, this story might not have gotten published at all, and she continues to provide invaluable yeoman's work in previewing the chapters. Kudos and thanks. Thank you also to the reviewers, who help ensure that I keep publishing. -A._

* * *

"Your taxes are ruining us."

"You are wasting away, it's plain to see," Loghain returned drily.

The dwarf merchant grumbled. "That's not the point! Business! We come all the way out here to Gwaren, and my expenses..."

"Are obviously worth your while."

The exchange was all good-natured. Hedar and the teyrn had known each other many years, the dwarf's wife and children lived in Gwaren, and his trips to Orzammar and Denerim were becoming less and less frequent as he got older. "Are you going to buy or not, Teyrn Loghain?"

Ellie spoke up. "What about that dagger your partner is... displaying?" A younger dwarf was perched on a barrel with a long, thin blade in his hand, of a type that was so popular on the wharves that it had become known as the "Gwaren toothpick." Generally this was meant to be a metaphor, though the dwarf Ellie referred to happened to be taking the term literally at the time. He looked up as Ellie pointed at him, ceased working at his teeth and held the blade out to her. When she hesitated, staring at it, he sheepishly wiped the blade off on his shirt before presenting it to her once more.

"It's enchanted, Teyrna," Hedar pointed out.. The graven runes on the hilt shone with a light blue glow, testifying to his words. The merchant paused, calculating. "Lyrium is not cheap, as you know. But, for you... twenty sovereigns. As a wedding present."

Loghain snorted, but watched Ellie to see if the blade would interest her. All of the men jumped when a moment later the blade was planted, still shivering, in a wooden post five paces away. They had not even seen her throw it. Ellie looked back at Loghain, smiling. "Good blade."

He turned to Hedar. "Ten." There was more bickering and complaints, and finally the teyrn paid twelve. He counted out the coins while Elissa retrieved the dagger and slipped it into a boot sheath made just for the purpose of concealing a small blade. The couple then walked onward through the market.

It had been several days since the departure of their guests, and most of that time had been spent setting the estate to rights again after the disaster left by a wedding celebrations. Ellie had moved in to her own rooms next door to Loghain's. Finally, on a day when it looked like it might not rain for at least a few hours, the pair had gone on an outing. They forbade the mage attendant to follow, and she seemed more than happy to be left behind. Cutha could not be denied so easily, of course.

Loghain had a few stops to make that were not for leisure. He turned down an alleyway and led Elissa to a part of the village that was obviously more run-down. They stopped before a small house, tidier than those on the rest of the street but in decline. A few scrubby trees and rose bushes, half-dead or on their way, lined the front fence. Once it must have been an attractive home. Ellie ordered Cutha to stay in the yard as they knocked on the weathered door.

Inside a small fire burned, and a woman sat by it. She leapt up when the couple entered. "Teyrn! How good of you to come. He's feeling very poorly lately, but he'll be so pleased."

The "he" was a thin, sickly old man on a bed nearby. It had obviously been moved into the main room, other furniture cleared, so the man could be close to the largest hearth. Loghain approached his bed and crouched down on a low stool. "How are you, Walther?"

Walther's mottled, thin hand reached out to grasp Loghain's arm and then the man sat up, making a sound that could have been laughter but more resembled wheezing. Finally he managed to speak, albeit in a hoarse whisper. "You've come, L..l..loghain. My Celie will be so pleased."

Loghain smiled and nodded, playing along. There was no point in trying to tell Walther that his daughter was dead. He knew it, somewhere deep down, but would just forget or pretend to forget if he was reminded. "I've come, Walther. You're not missing much keeping to your bed. The rains are upon us already..." He kept on like that, chatting about news in the village, for some minutes, though eventually it was clear the old man was no longer listening. When Walther began to make wheezing snores, Loghain released his hand and stood. "Do you need anything?" he asked the woman, who was not Celia's mother but a nurse that he himself had hired to tend the old man. The nurse shook her head. Loghain counted out some money and gave it to her anyway.

When he and Ellie were back on the street, he felt her looking at him. "That was your wife's father, wasn't it?" she asked finally.

"Yes." Loghain walked on in silence a few moments more before he continued. He had been tempted to say nothing further at all, but Ellie deserved more than that. "He was a nasty piece of work, that one. Beat Celia's mother. I don't think he ever laid a hand on Celia, but she was glad to be away from him."

"And you still look after him?"

"Of course. It's little enough. He'll have a roof and food, and a gravestone someday, but no more from me than that."

They headed out of the town proper and began the climb up to Gwaren Manor. Before and during the occupation, it had been the home of the teyrn. When Loghain assumed the title, he didn't feel right occupying the place that had been used by Orlesians to look down on and terrorize the Fereldan townspeople. Much of Gwaren had burned in the fighting and had to be rebuilt anyway, so he had constructed his new estate within the town limits itself. The Manor was turned over to the town guard and regional militia, the Gwaren Regulars. That winter, the manor and the barracks surrounding it housed a few more than its usual number, since Loghain had brought some of his own forces from Denerim.

They were at mess in the main hall when Loghain and Elissa walked in. Seeing them, the soldiers all leapt to their feet amidst whoops and cheers. Generally Loghain was known as a hard, practical, taciturn man; he was respected but not loved in most places, especially in the nobility. The common folk responded to him more readily, though his position and hero status kept him at some distance. Fereldan soldiers, however, especially those who served directly under him, worshipped him. Some of his commanders had fought alongside him in the rebellion, or else their fathers had. These passed on the stories of Loghain and the Night Elves and of Maric the Savior, favorites which grew more outlandish with every telling. It was not only history that endeared Loghain to his men, however. Every one of them knew that if they were called to shed blood for Ferelden, he would not spare his own blood just to save himself.

The officers' attempts to quell the cheering and restore order, therefore, were half-hearted since they were smiling, too. One of them, a man with close-cropped dark hair and cheerful eyes, approached Loghain and clasped his hand. "Teyrn Loghain. Come to see if we were up here sleeping off the wedding celebration, did you."

"Come to show you that I'm not," Loghain replied with a half-smile. "Commander Riven, this is..."

"The Teyrna Elissa. Delighted, my lady." Riven bent down and kissed Elissa's gloved hand. Looking back at Loghain, he added, "I think you've actually come to show off your beautiful wife."

The teyrn chuckled and didn't deny it. He walked down the rows, waving the soldiers back to their ease, shaking hands and pausing while the guardsmen greeted Elissa. Many of them had been at the wedding, but at such affairs nobles kept to themselves and the commoners likewise, so most had not gotten a good look at the bride then. They did now, and the gossip that Loghain managed to overhear in the room was positive. The teyrna had a solid look about her and spoke well, no drooping flower. She also was obviously right at home in their midst. While Loghain excused himself to talk over supplies and drill plans with his officers, Elissa took a seat at a table with several blushing guardsmen and a female archer. A plate of stew was put in front of her, and another set out for her mabari.

When Loghain finished talking to the officers, he turned and surveyed the hall. It was here that Maric had first held court, trying to win over the nobles' support for an attack on West Hill. In this very room, Loghain had killed a man who suggested they would be better off turning the prince over to the dogs. He could still remember the sight of the man's blood pooling, his eyes staring in horror. It had been necessary and Loghain did not flinch from doing it. There was someone else in that hall who should have had the blade run through her, however: The elven woman who was working as an an Orlesian agent, and who was also Maric's lover. Loghain had interrogated her but had been taken in by her stories, too. It had been a harsh lesson for young men to learn, that beauty and kindness could conceal betrayal.

Shaking off the memory, Loghain glanced over to where his little family sat having their meal. Ellie was earnestly listening to a common guardsman go on about something. She was a good listener and it showed in the man's face. She made people believe they were important to her. The teyrn smiled faintly and crossed the room to join them.

It was well into the afternoon and threatening rain by the time they emerged. They had planned to walk out into the countryside, and despite the greying of the sky Elissa insisted they keep to their plan. Around Gwaren, the forest had been beaten back from the coastline by centuries of sheep farming, leaving a strip of rocky moor all along the sea cliffs. The sheep paths were also ideal for walking, and a few of the woolly natives even put in an appearance while Loghain and Elissa took to them. Cutha left the sheep in peace but soon his barking could be heard off in the distance along with the terrified squawks of sea birds.

Ellie did most of the talking as they strolled, describing for Loghain her favorite spots along Highever's coasts. These were generally greener and more fair than Gwaren's, without the cold mists and bogs that haunted this region. Loghain knew that part of the country a little- he had traveled most of Ferelden- and still found his own teyrnir more pleasing. Gwaren's beauty was a desolate one, lonelier than the more settled north, but its crags and moors and deep forests had a harmony of their own. The fact that you needed a little courage and persistence to be able to appreciate it just made it that much more rewarding. Mostly Loghain kept his thoughts to himself, however, occasionally interjecting a question as Elissa spoke.

The path turned steeper, heading up into some higher cliffs, and they sometimes had to clamber on boulders to make progress. Ellie wanted to reach the top of a butte that looked like it might provide a splendid view of the surrounding countryside and the sea. So it did. They stood admiring the vista for a time when abruptly Loghain turned and asked, "Why are you doing this?"

Ellie's brow shot up. "Doing what?"

He gestured around him as though it should be obvious. "This. Why are you so... amiable? Why do you try to kiss me even when we are not in bed together? Why do you seek my company?" His voice was even, not accusatory, though there was a pointedness to it that showed he meant to get an answer.

She laughed, her tone incredulous. "Because it is such an unusual thing to walk with one's husband? Or kiss him?"

Loghain frowned. "I am serious. Please answer the question. In marrying me you got your freedom from Cailan. I want to know why you are trying so hard to earn my favor."

Ellie stepped close, facing him and meeting his eyes. She seemed to be probing him. Finally she asked, "Do you not believe that we could be friends, Loghain? Is my company so disagreeable to you?"

"No! Of course not." His tone was dismissive. Ellie remained still, eyes on him. She had him pinned, and suddenly Loghain was sorry he had ever asked the question. He wanted honesty from her, but it was more difficult to produce honesty on his own part. Softening, his voice took on an air of defeat. "I like you. A great deal, in fact. I did not expect to like you."

Elissa laughed and nodded. "I didn't expect to like you, either. All the things I heard about you... well, they are true, in a way, but they are not the whole story." She hesitated, and put a hand on his arm. "You believe me false? Or maybe you believe me shallow? Yes, that is more likely. I'm young and you think I am being flighty or naive. Maybe I am, and I won't be able to convince you otherwise anyway. You will just have to trust me. Unless you mean that we should not spend any more time together."

Loghain shrugged vaguely. That was not what he meant, but if she was insincere, it would be preferable. After a silence, the curiosity finally got the best of him. "What is it that you heard about me?"

"That you are a hard, difficult man. They say you are fair, but... that you are not the kind of man that people want to have at dinner or invite out for a pint. Or the kind of man that a woman would want to go home to at night." She looked at him, obviously expecting him to react to these words, but they meant little to Loghain. They were true, after all.

"I am that. I told you as much before we were married, though since you heard those stories you didn't need me to tell you."

"It's just idle talk. Anyway I had already formed a different opinion before I came here." Loghain did not prompt her to explain, so for a moment there was no sound but the crashing of the waves far below them. Elissa seemed to be sorting through her thoughts. Finally she went on, "You are a hard man, yes, I can see that. But everyone knows of your long friendship with the king. You sacrificed yourself for him countless times. The men who fight with you love you, everyone knows that too. They obviously see something that the casual observer does not. So I already knew that there must be more to you than what people said. And now I know that there is."

Loghain's jaw firmed. He did not want her to elaborate. It was too likely that what she would say would either be empty flattery or would simply be wrong. Freeing his arm gently from her grasp, he paced away a few steps and attempted to change the subject. "You must not have been terribly against the idea of marriage, Ellie, if you are so willing to reform your opinion of me, and if you truly want this to be more than just an alliance of convenience."

Ellie crossed to a rock behind him and slowly took a seat on it. "I wasn't always open to the idea of marriage," she admitted. "For most of my youth I saw it as something that would only limit me. But in recent years, I changed my mind. I realized that I did want someone to hold and to take walks with and who would wake up next to me. Does that surprise you?"

Turning to glance at her, Loghain replied, "A little."

"It's because I can use a sword, isn't it? For a woman it's that simple. You either wield a sword or a husband's cock, never both."

That prompted a chuckle from him. "Wielding both at the same time could be dangerous, my dear." He turned to face her. "Many do think it comes down to that choice, I suppose. I am not one of them."

"Yes, I know!" Ellie leapt up, suddenly enthused again. Coming up to him, she spoke in an earnest tone. "If I was to marry, whom could I choose that was not only my equal, but who would not try to mold me into his arm dressing? I can be arm dressing, mind you, I just don't want that to be all there is. I knew little of you, no more than what any child hears in the tales, but based on what I heard, I took a chance. A chance that you and I might be able to leave each other alone where it mattered. I hoped for more than that, but that was what I wanted most of all. The rest of it..."

While she was talking, Loghain felt his heart pick up its pace a little. Ellie spoke sensibly, and it was also hard not to be infected by her enthusiasm. Though he did not want to admit it, what she was telling him both impressed and moved him. He hadn't imagined that a woman would see him to such advantage simply for doing what came naturally to him. Ellie was admitting that she had not only chosen him for his position, for the freedom he offered her from Cailan, but also for who he was. Reaching up a hand, he stroked her cheek and watched her face, but said nothing, allowing her to finish.

"...the rest of it, that was a surprise. Your kindness. The way you notice small things and small people. The respect you show me, when many other men of our station look down on me as not being womanly or seemly enough." Ellie paused, then laughed. "Do you believe me now? I know we don't know each other well, but I like you. I _do_ like you."

Loghain stared at her, measuring her statements, but her gaze never wavered under his scrutiny. His hand moved from caressing her cheek to slip around her waist. Pulling her closer, he touched his lips to her forehead. "Thank you," he said quietly, the gravel in his voice betraying the emotion she had stirred in him. His mind turned to the memory of Katriel, Maric's elven lover who had betrayed them and nearly cost them the rebellion. Closing his eyes, Loghain suddenly knew in his gut what he had not been able to understand then: Maric's desperate need to believe the assurances of the woman in his arms, who was so tender and who seemed so good. Quickly Loghain fought to shrug off the comparison. It was a different day, and Ellie was not that woman.

Gathering himself after a moment, he stood back and, hand still resting on her waist, spoke in a voice that was harder than he intended. "You must know that I am not really a free man. Whether I like you or not, whether I am wed to you or not, I must always serve Ferelden."

"And you think I don't?" She smiled up at him. "I am no fool. I did not wed an ordinary man and do not expect an ordinary husband. Did it ever to occur to you that I don't want one?"

It hadn't, really. Loghain had assumed that she had taken this course merely out of necessity, that she had been forced into it. What she was telling him was that she actually wanted him. Perhaps it had not been her first choice, but it did not seem a bad choice to her, either. And there it was again- his heart beating faster. He only vaguely realized that what moved him was Elissa's acceptance, the prospect of actually pleasing her and not just being what she had been compelled to settle for. Leaning down, Loghain drew their mouths together into a kiss that had both affection and heat. His arms moved down her back and drew her in more closely, pressing their bodies together. Dimly he tried to remind himself that it couldn't last, and that it was dangerous for him to form attachments because it might weaken his resolve to do his duty. The warning voices in his head were growing weaker by the moment, however.

When they turned back towards the town and made it to the level paths once more, Loghain caught Ellie once to steady her, and as he held her arm it occurred to him that he might take her hand and hold it while they walked. One would occasionally see lovers do that, even older couples. His hand was still on her arm while he fought with the urge, but finally he released her and walked on, cursing himself. It wasn't clear even to him whether he was cursing himself for having had such a silly notion in the first place, or for not having the courage to actually follow it through.

In the ensuing weeks he and Elissa did go their own way at times. Loghain meant for her to see as much of Gwaren teyrnir as the winter storms would allow, and at first he accompanied her on these trips, but as she became more comfortable she went abroad on her own while he was attending to other affairs. Once or twice he did not see her for days at a time. The mage Anya was her companion for some of these journeys, and Loghain had to admit he rested easier knowing Ellie had a healing mage nearby.

The common folk of the region were a skeptical lot. At first Loghain had had to explain to Elissa that in Gwaren people tended to scowl when they liked you, and smile when they thought you were full of shite and they couldn't be bothered. There was some muttering over the new young teyrna, who did not meet everyone's expectations for what a lady should be, especially since even as a commoner Celia had cut a much different impression. Mostly, however, the scowling Elissa encountered was the good kind.

She had a quick mind and had used it to good purpose in her younger years. With a basic grasp of seafaring, farming and battle, Ellie could at least ask the right questions. If she didn't always follow the answers, it was likely due to Gwaren's heavy dialect. When Loghain accompanied Elissa on her visits, he would usually stand back and let her do the talking, but would occaionally lean in to whisper a quick translation from Gwarenese into ordinary Fereldan. This led to the rumor being passed around that the young teyrna was hard of hearing. Ellie soon learned to decipher Gwaren dialect on her own, but she had people shouting at her in the streets for most of the winter.

Harel, Loghain's handservant, who actually was partly deaf, was at first skeptical of his new mistress. The housekeeper likewise seemed concerned. It took some time for Loghain to work out from their grumbling that they were just nervous that she would upset the applecart in what was usually a quiet household. Harel, for one, was scared to death that he would be let go. The elf had been a stable boy all his life until he was thrown, breaking his back and one leg. By that time he had been in Loghain's employ some years. Even after he recovered, the elf obviously could not return to the stables and Loghain had taken him into the house. Harel had had a fine horse sense but was useless at anything else, so the teyrn made him valet, a post that required almost nothing of him since Loghain did not like to be fussed over and was usually in Denerim anyway. The little man, who had rheumy blue eyes and all of three stubborn wisps of blonde hair on his head, was absurdly loyal. He had actually cried when Loghain once suggested he accept a pension and take a cottage in town. And so, the teyrn's boots might be set out in mismatched pairs, but they were always shined. Elissa had no intention of firing him; quite the opposite. She thought Harel delightful, like having an elven grandfather, something that the servant found alarming but eventually got used to.

The housekeeper had also seemed to be complaining about Elissa at first. Loghain had finally worked out from "mistress does not have a menu for the week" and "mistress has a great deal of dirty laundry" that the woman was concerned the new teyrna was not being precise enough in her orders about these things. Celia had run a tight household and had had an opinion on everything, down to how heavy the bed fill should be. Some of the servants still remembered this and expected the same from the new teyrna. In view of Ellie's apathy about how many goose feathers in the mattress were just right, the housekeeper was trying to ask if she could just get on with what she had been doing before. Loghain assured her that she could.

He had once been worried about his independence with a new wife, and it was true that as the winter went on, Loghain was relieved that he could attend to his duties and not entertain Elissa every moment. She took to her new home and new role so well that she rarely needed him. While sitting at his desk writing letters or distracted while he watched his troops at maneuvers, however, Loghain would find himself thinking about her. He began to look forward to the simple pleasure of eating his dinner with her. On some nights they were too tired to make love, but it was a rare night that the couple slept apart in their own rooms. It was a kind of thrill to hear Ellie's slippers scuff to his door and feel her climb in bed next to him, and a different kind of thrill to surprise her in like manner. They had argued on occasion, but mostly over small things. When they did argue more vigorously, it was usually on the days that they took to sword practice with one another. Neither of them liked to be shown up. Their lovemaking was especially vigorous on those nights, as though the bruises and tongue-lashing they had given each other in the afternoon had been nothing but intoxicating foreplay.

As the winter waned, Loghain felt some foreboding. Gwaren had many problems, but it was peaceful and remote, its people honest and straightforward. They would be in Denerim soon, however, and that was a horse of a very different color. He was anxious to get back to Maric's side, yet could not help but feel that he and Ellie had spent the winter in a kind of respite, like being holed up in a cozy, out-of-the-way cabin. There was very little cozy about the palace in Denerim. His role there was more demanding and would leave even less time for him to attend the needs of a young wife. Ellie had found her feet quickly in Gwaren, but Loghain did not know how she would fare at court, where her boldness and lack of pretense would stand out and be tested. Spring approached. They would soon find out.


	7. Chapter 7

"You can't go in there. King'll be out shortly." Alun Marwell was a beefy-faced man, a street tough who had come up through the ranks to become one of Maric's most trusted bodyguards. He had cut off the party from Gwaren in the outer parlor of the royal suite and now stood before the door with his arms crossed as though they might try to bull past him.

It had been a long trip, overland with about thirty of Loghain's forces and some civilian hangers-on, and the teyrn was in no frame of mind to bull anyone, even if he hadn't had the women in tow. He and Ellie stood around stinking of horse while Anora took a seat to wait. They had left Cauthrien and Ellie's mage attendant Anya in the hallway casting skeptical glances at one another. There was no sign of Cailan.

A few minutes later the door behind Alun opened and Maric came into the parlor, still stuffing his shirt into his leather trousers, blonde hair mussed and eyes sunken. Loghain's mouth clenched at the sight. Though he said nothing, a claw of anxiety grabbed at him. He had seen Maric in such a state before, but only long before.

Putting on an obviously forced smile, the king held out his arms. "Here you both are. Welcome to Denerim, Elissa."

"Your Majesty." Elissa smiled, bowing her head, but Loghain could see the concern in her expression. "Thank you for the welcome, but I have been in Denerim before, a number of times."

"Of course, of course, but not as a member of the court. And how is the new husband treating you?" Maric could not conceal how tired he sounded, despite the attempt at banter.

"Very well, of course."

"Right, right. You have to say that regardless, don't you?"

"Maric..." Loghain stepped closer to the king. When he did, he smelled the alcohol and recoiled. Scowling, the teyrn finished, "I'm sorry, Maric, but we are tired. We just came to present ourselves and let you know we had made it back to the capital."

The king moved away and crossed behind the desk, defensively putting it between them. He sat, leaned back in his chair and laced his hands together. "I'm glad. We missed you, and now we've got Highever's best here, too. We'll have to talk, Elissa, about what role you would like to play in the court. I would make you a minister if there were any spots open, but if you really want that sort of post, I'll make one for you. I was rather thinking you might like to do some recruiting for the army..."

As he barely listened to Elissa making some reply, Loghain marveled at the fact that Maric could still act the king even while he was obviously cooked and sauced. He had always had a knack for charming his way out of everything, even in the days when he was a young, scared prince, or else everyone around him loved him so much that they followed him anyway. It had been a long time since Maric had had to fake his way through, however.

"...You're young, you'll be a draw both for women and for young men. For different reasons, of course." Maric chuckled as he went on talking about Elissa taking up recruitment for the army. "At any rate, get settled in and then come and see me. Oh, that reminds me, I made arrangements for you to have a residence that should be much nicer than Loghain's dusty old apartments. There's a cottage on the palace grounds that the Orlesians built for visiting nobles. You know the one, Loghain, over in the park by the willow pond. The usurpers did leave a few good things behind."

Ellie stirred in her spot. "It sounds lovely, Your Majesty, but you needn't..."

Maric waved a hand. "Of course I do. For you and Loghain, anything. It's not as if there are a lot of foreign visitors coming to Ferelden anyway, is there? Except as it happens, there is an ambassador from Kirkwall here at the moment, so it's occupied. I had hoped he would be gone by the time you returned."

"We'll manage," the teyrn answered irritably. He wanted to be gone. What he really wanted was for the women to leave so that he could grab Maric by the neck and shake him, but second best would be a bath and a meal.

Anora spoke up. "I've made sure your rooms here were kept clean and otherwise untouched, Father."

"Thank you, Anora." Loghain noted that his daughter was obviously at home in the palace, already "making sure" of things. In addition to continuing her own education, her unofficial role at court was as advisor to Cailan. There had been something about dancing and etiquette lessons for the prince. Much as Loghain knew the boy needed to settle down, he pitied him thoroughly all the same.

Maric added, "You can keep your old quarters anyway, Loghain, not just until the ambassador leaves. Meanwhile Elissa can be given a guest room for now..."

"She'll stay with me." Loghain realized late that he had uttered this too quickly and firmly. The king's mouth twisted in a grin, and after a moment he uttered a little noise that was part triumphant "ha!" and part laugh. _I told you so_ was written all over his bloated face. Anora's reaction was even more pointed. She looked up, startled, and glanced between her father and Elissa. Loghain ignored them both, heading for the door but qualifying over his shoulder, "Unless the lady wishes it otherwise."

Elissa answered quickly, as well. "No, that will be fine. Thank you, Your Majesty. Thank you, Anora."

When he was in the corridor and safely away, Loghain swore softly. He should not have stayed away so long, that was plain. Walking at a fast clip and deep in thought, he waved Cauthrien off and was barely aware of Ellie following him until they had reached his old quarters. Only when the door closed behind them did he turn around and realize, finally, that there was a woman in his rooms. A woman who would be staying in them. In Gwaren Loghain had gotten used to the sight of red hair spread out on his pillow and women's smallclothes tossed on his desk chair. That was there, however, and his quarters in Denerim had always been his own. Celia had never set foot in them.

Ellie was wandering slowly from the window to his bookshelves and began examining the volumes in them. Loghain watched her uneasily. His house in Gwaren was modest and comfortable, more like the home of a wealthy commoner than a noble estate. The palace in Denerim was much older than the Orlesian war, however, and Loghain could never quite be at home in it. The echoing stone walls, high ceilings with wooden rafters, and the drafts that whistled in them always made him feel like there were people watching him and whispering. The fact that court life really was like that only heightened the impression. And now, he supposed, the voices would be whispering about his new, much younger wife. Loghain could only guess how Ellie would find it all. Even in a nicer residence than his spare chambers, he couldn't imagine anyone actually liking the palace. Not unless you were the sort who thrived on the whispers, as Anora did.

"You like maps." Ellie had come around to his wall hanging, a tapestry he had commissioned from an old map of pre-occupation Ferelden. It was the one piece of decoration in his quarters that Loghain valued most, and he was distractedly pleased that it should be the first thing she commented on.

"The making of a good map is a valuable art. It isn't easy to capture a landscape on a flat surface, but a good map mean the difference between life and death."

"Much has changed since this one was made."

"It is important to remember who we were." Loghain watched her a moment, then gestured and added, "The Couslands are there. I could find a much older map and they would always be there."

"Sometimes as the enemies of the crown." Ellie turned to look over her shoulder at him.

"Loyalties change." He paused, then looked down and asked mildly, "Do you miss your home a great deal?"

Ellie's eyes returned to the map, gazing up at Highever's mark on it. "Not a great deal. But I do miss it sometimes."

Even if Elissa was minimizing for his benefit, it was true that she did not seem unhappy. It was little credit to him, since he had come to realize that Ellie made do with whatever situation she found, usually with a ready smile. Meanwhile Loghain knew full well that his reputation for brooding was deserved. Their ages were not the only thing that set them apart. Perhaps she would find her way in the palace better than he had.

A knock came and servants entered, bringing them a platter of cold meats and continuing into the inner chambers to prepare a bath. Ser Cauthrien was hovering in the doorway when they entered and Loghain waved her in.

The knight bowed, looking fit and eager as always. She cast one pointed glance at Elissa before returning her eyes to Loghain. "My lord."

"Cauthrien. I'll hear your reports tomorrow. Where is the prince, do you know?"

"Prince Cailan is not in the palace." She glanced around uneasily, leaned in and explained, "Likely he has gone out to one of the noble houses, my lord. He has friends who entertain him often."

Out of the corner of his eye Loghain saw Elissa stir and turn her gaze away. In the past she had no doubt been one of those who had entertained the prince. Nevertheless jealousy was the last thing on his mind. He expelled a breath, rubbing at his forehead. Maric at least got drunk in the palace, in sight of his royal guard. Maker even knew if Cailan had thought to bring his along. The boy was not a prisoner, but it would have been better for everyone if he _could_ be locked up. Already he was gaining a reputation among the nobles as dissolute and shiftless. For the time being they would excuse this as the vices of a young man, but that indulgence would not last forever.

Whatever was troubling Maric, his son's difficulty with his station was different. Maric had never wanted the office, but he could apply himself to its work very diligently. Only in his despair after Rowan's death had he disregarded even the most basic, necessary tasks. Cailan had been a diligent student of history and an avid reader in his boyhood, but to him the drudgery of ruling- which was the majority of what ruling meant- was a ball of trifles he could kick into a corner while he looked for something more exciting. If he had grown up during the rebellion, he wouldn't have lacked for diversion, but peacetime Ferelden was wanting in that department. Cailan had been forced to improvise.

Loghain was still wrapped up in his thoughts, head bowed, when he felt Ellie's hands moving to unlace his armor. Looking up, he saw that Cauthrien and all the servants had gone. "I'm sorry, Ellie, I was just..."

"I know." Her face was sober. "You were thinking. Worrying. You do a lot of both, as you must. Don't apologize for it."

"I suppose."

Loghain helped her strip down his plate and her leathers, then withdrew into the bedchamber and the washroom. When he got to the washroom he suddenly remembered, again, that there was someone there who needed to share it. Turning, he gestured and said, "There is a bath ready. Would you... shall we...?" They had bathed together numerous times, but Loghain did not like to presume.

"I'll join you."

Minutes later he was gasping her name into her hair, arms resting loosely around her waist as she stroked him, slowly at first and then more vigorously. He had intended only to bathe, but soon enough Ellie's body had had its effect on his. They had not been intimate in some days, since leaving Gwaren, and even tired and distracted he was, matters had simply taken their own course. Loghain had told Ellie to ignore it, but she merely smiled at him and took things into her own hands. Literally.

This was why every sly look and comment that people gave him was justified. It was what the palace would soon be whispering about. Maric's smirking and Anora's surprise were only the early signs of what he could expect from every noble down to to every stable boy who felt fit to comment: The Hero of River Dane had married the scion of Highever, a beautiful woman nearly half his age. It had already been the talk for months, but now they would see that it was more than just a politically impressive match, that Elissa meant something to him. Loghain had a reputation as tough and unflinching, which led many to joke that the armor he was so often seen in was his real skin. If but one servant could overhear his groaning now, the whole palace would soon know his skin took to polishing more readily than a suit of armor.

It was an uneasy thing for Loghain to be reminded that he was just a man. He had never wanted to be known as a legend, either, but after so many years of being treated as such, the idea of having such a known vulnerability was troubling. Other men could have weaknesses, indulgences. If today's reception at the palace was proof of anything, it was that he could not afford to. And yet Elissa saw him weak, saw him need her, and sooner or later others would know that she weakened him, too. When at last Ellie brought him to his finish, Loghain was shaking with more than just the violence of his physical response.

He was still trembling when he reciprocated, one arm looped gently around her back while his fingers teased at her. At least, by the Maker's mercy, Ellie seemed to find him an acceptable lover. It would have been easier if she had had no interest in him at all; he could then have disciplined his body to remain cold to her. While it would have been easier, it was still not something Loghain wished for too much. She was not just kind and welcoming, she also matched him for desire and was openly appreciative of his efforts to satisfy her. The sighs and sweet words of her coming were a potent reward. It flattered him more than he wanted to admit that even after all these years, a lovely young woman who could have any lover she wanted did not simply push him away in disgust.

They finished their bath and ate a small supper, then both fell into bed and were soon asleep. Loghain had not slept so well in years as he had in the past months.

* * *

"You do realize that it is the raiders from your coasts that have made such measures necessary in the first place?" Loghain stood beside Maric's throne, armor gleaming in the morning sunlight that came in through the high windows of Fereldan's great hall. His voice echoed in the rafters as he scowled down at Kirkwall's ambassador, one Gilard Ayermin. The man was dressed in dark velvets and a robe of black silk emblazoned with the geometric patterns of his city's dragon symbol. Maric had managed to get dressed that morning, too, though he was slumped sidewise and mostly silent during the audience with the ambassador.

"Teyrn Loghain," the ambassador stumbled, "this is a problem our own sailors face as well..."

"And your government does nothing to address it? Is your plan to sit back and let us handle it, then?"

Ayermin laughed nervously, spreading his hands. Loghain could see from his flustered reaction that the man had become accustomed to dealing with Maric and had expected more of the same ready compliance. The king had already agreed that when he took the royal flagship out that spring, he would combine it with a state visit to the Free Marches. Loghain did not like it one bit. "Teyrn Loghain, we do what we can, but our country is not a wealthy one. We are forced to compete with the other Free Cities, and have always to deal with Orlais and Nevarra as well, and the Imperium. Surely your lordship understands that it is difficult for a small, modest state to hold its own. That is why we should very much like to deepen our friendship with Ferelden."

Maric was watching it all with a tired bemusement. "You'll have to excuse Loghain, ambassador. He watches our interests closely."

"But of course, Your Majesty. We have heard of the Hero of River Dane. The stories are told..."

Loghain cut him off, recognizing base flattery when he heard it. "Yes, thank you. It seems you have the promises you sought, ambassador. We have nothing more to discuss here, unless the king has anything further?"

"That will be all for now. We will see you at dinner, Gilard."

The ambassador bowed low and retreated. When he was gone, Loghain turned and regarded Maric sharply. "You're quite friendly with this man."

"Is Ferelden to have no friends, Loghain? Only enemies?"

"We stand on our own."

"You know as well as I do that that only goes so far. You yourself have urged me to expand our trade and our political alliances as a counterbalance to Orlais. How do you expect me to do that? Frown at them til they give in?"

"Maric, this little sailing trip of yours..."

The king rose slowly from the throne and put a hand on his friend's arm. "I know it worries you, Loghain. I also know that you realize, deep down under those stern glares, that it is the right thing to do and the right time to do it. We need a navy. What better way to recruit than for me to put in at Fereldan ports and talk to the men on the docks? We need to solidify our ties to the Free Marches, and there is nothing better for that than to show that I mean business. And Cailan needs to lead for a while without me looking over his shoulder. He will have you here to make sure all goes smoothly, so I'm not worried about that."

Loghain hated it, but Maric was right on all counts. He hated it even more that Maric knew that he knew this. There was no point in more protest. "I don't like ships," he grumbled, the best he could do.

Maric grinned. "I guess I'll have to look elsewhere for my first recruit, won't I? Now let's go meet Elissa at the practice field. I'm eager to see what the new Lady Mac Tir can do with a sword."

What Elissa could do was plain to see in the beet-red, sweaty face of the master-at-arms, and plain to hear in his growling complaints. Loghain was instantly sympathetic. Elissa favored using a shield, but she did not use it the way others did. For one thing, she did not rely on it for her defense, instead using her quickness to simply not be there when the blow came. This saved both her shield and her shield arm, and by the time her opponent adjusted to the surprise, he was likely find Elissa's shield in his face. At first Loghain had assumed that such dancing movements would tire her, but by experience found out otherwise. She combined them with a careful precision so that all her moves were efficient. Though she also had the advantage of being young, the disciplined style helped save her stamina. Loghain could recognize the state of things in the lazy way she was now letting the master-at-arms come at her. She was toying with him.

At last the man yielded, throwing his own sword down in disgust. After a brief rest Elissa took up again with a younger soldier. He was wary at first, having just seen his trainer bested, but soon began to make mistakes as well. Elissa had admitted to Loghain that her best defense was the overconfidence of men. Even though some of Ferelden's best fighters had been women, something stubborn in men would not let them believe that a woman could best them in combat. That prejudice was a weakness that Ellie could and did exploit with cheerful abandon.

Maric was watching the sparring with fascination. When at last Elissa called a draw and came over to them, he clapped appreciatively. "Good show, Teyrna. I'll know not to challenge you any day soon."

"Your Majesty. Hello, Loghain." She smiled at her husband and paused to catch her breath and take a drink from a water flask.

"Don't bother challenging her," Loghain advised drily. "She had some Antivan fop show her how to use a shield and doesn't know how to do it properly." This was an ongoing, good-natured taunt between the couple. Elissa had in fact had an Antivan trainer once, who had given up trying to interest her in fighting with two swords and had instead adapted some of the techniques of that style to the shield. During practice fights, Loghain kept insisting "you're doing it wrong" even as his wife was giving him a run for his money with her unusual style.

"Don't listen to him, Your Majesty. That sniffling is my husband's hurt pride talking."

"So I see." Maric laughed and looked between the two of them with a pleased curiosity. Loghain didn't bother to meet his eyes. He knew that Maric could see how it stood with them, that even in a few short months, he and the wife he had grudgingly taken had become friends. Even if the smirking was an annoyance and others besides Maric might use this fact against him, Loghain still could not help but feel satisfaction and a certain pride. Maric's surprise at this turn of events was no greater than his own.

After a few minutes watching the other guardsmen sparring, the king spoke up again, more soberly. "What do you know of darkspawn, Elissa?"

Both of the others turned to him, Loghain sharply so. Ellie stammered, replying, "Well, let's see. They are horrible creatures that once threatened many lands and still trouble the dwarven cities. Why do you ask, Your Majesty?"

The king was avoiding Loghain's gaze. "I would like you to meet someone. I think you would like him, and he would be interested to see you fight. Don't let him try to recruit you, though. He's always trying to grab the cream of the crop out of our guard."

"You're talking about the Grey Warden," Loghain said, his voice thick with distaste. "The one from Val Royeaux."

"Duncan. Yes." Maric still wasn't looking at the teyrn, or he would have seen his face darken even more, though Loghain made no further comment. "Be here at this same time tomorrow, Elissa, and I'll send round for Duncan to come meet you."

That evening, as Loghain and Elissa dressed for dinner with the ambassador, the teyrn maintained a terse silence. Why was Maric thinking about this again _now_? He was drinking, and he was talking about darkspawn. The combination turned the claw of anxiety that had been eating at Loghain into something sharper. Long ago, Maric had been told something by a witch of the wilds that had given the king a lifelong fear of the threat of Blight. The witch had said other things, as well...

Lacing up his surcoat, Loghain grumbled to Ellie, "Be wary of this Duncan fellow. The Grey Wardens are a canny bunch. Pretend to be above the fray but I don't trust their motives."

"Father seemed to admire them a great deal."

"Yes, well, he hasn't seen what I have."

Elissa did not ask about that, instead continuing, "I would like to meet this Duncan. In fact, I believe Father may have mentioned him a time or two."

"Do not get involved with him, Ellie. I won't have you beholden to Grey Wardens."

There was warning in her voice, but Loghain didn't hear it. "Meeting him is hardly 'getting involved.' I shall merely..."

"You won't ally with them, do you understand? I forbid it."

Elissa stopped cold at that and turned from her dressing table. Icily she replied, "I am sorry, husband, but you don't get to _forbid_ me anything."

The change in her tone could not be missed then. Loghain looked up, meeting her glare with one of his own. She couldn't possibly understand how dangerous these people were, and yet, she had a point. Elissa was not his underling. His voice was grudging. "I'm sorry. You are right, I cannot give you orders. I shall merely give you advice. If you choose not to take it, that is up to you."

After a moment Ellie stepped over to him and put a hand on his arm. Her expression was puzzled, searching. Loghain glanced at her before turning his eyes away once more. When she spoke, it was in a much softer tone. "What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing. It's nothing. Come, we are late."

Dinner passed uneventfully. Maric was subdued but otherwise his normal charming self. Loghain was wrapped up in his own thoughts and heard little of the conversation about the peculiarities of Kirkwall and the life of the sea. The latter had become a favorite theme of the king's of late. It was typical of Maric to romanticize something that was so risky, something that was about duty and not adventure, yet Loghain could not begrudge him too much. They both agreed his trip would be useful. If it also made Maric happy, there were few things of late that did.

Loghain did not touch Ellie that evening as they both retired, and after an hour of trying to sleep, he finally got up and sat at the window for a time staring out into the empty courtyard. At last he rose, threw on a tunic and slipped out into the hall, waving off his guard who made to follow. Alun Marwell was on duty again at Maric's door, but this time the royal guardsman made no protest when Loghain pushed past. Not bothering to knock, Loghain did pause in the outer parlor to call out, "Maric, are you awake?"

The only reply was a muffled sound. Continuing on into the king's bedchamber, Loghain found him coming out of the washroom, whiskey bottle in hand. At least it was half full, but that obviously wouldn't be the case for long. Loghain stepped over just in time to catch him as he was about to trip over a footstool.

"Maker's breath, Maric! What is this? What is wrong with you?" He no longer bothered to conceal the fear in his voice.

Maric tried to smile but his face twisted into a mask of pain instead. "Loghain. It's you. Old friend. Help me over there, would you?" The king sloshed the whiskey bottle towards the bed. When they reached it, Maric flopped back and didn't protest when Loghain took his bottle away. Rolling his head on the pillow, the king went on, slurring his words. "They're coming. The witch said it. She said..."

"No. Stop." Loghain sunk into a chair at the king's bedside, his voice pleading and angry. "Don't do this, Maric. That's why they call them witches. You don't have to heed anything she said."

The king mumbled on as though he hadn't heard. "...said I'd hurt them. Cailan wants to be me. He wants to be _me_, Loghain." That prompted a bout of pained laughter that drifted into more mumbling. "And I hurt her, too. She was good, so good... I should have left her alone down there... should have..." Maric fell into silence, then started up again, waving a hand towards Loghain. "It was always you. She always thought of you. She made a wall and behind it... it was always you."

Loghain drew a tense breath and leaned forward, letting his head sink. Brushing a hand over his eyes, he said wearily, "That's all in the past, Maric. Rowan loved you."

"Loved, yes. Love... shouldn't love..." There was more silence, and Loghain knew without looking that Maric was weeping. "Alistair...at least he didn't know. My boy. My good boy. He won't ever want to be me. I tried with Cailan, too, but he wouldn't listen."

"Cailan is fine. He'll be fine. Don't do this to yourself, Maric, it's pointless. If you want to help Cailan, stop this nonsense." All their lives, Loghain had been telling Maric what he needed to hear, and he was weary of it. The hard truths had seemed more satisfying in their youth than they did now. There was more to look forward to then.

Loghain waited, but Maric said nothing more. He had drifted off into a troubled sleep. Standing, the teyrn looked down at his friend, his king, for a long moment. The witch had saved their lives, helping them escape the usurpers that were hunting them and guiding them through the Wilds, but the price had been to listen to her poison words. Maric had spent hours in her hut and emerged, shaken, never revealing to anyone what the witch had said or done, except that she had warned of a Blight. A few other things the crone spared for Loghain to hear, too. He had overheard her tell Maric that he would hurt the ones he loved and would become that which he hated in order to save that which he loved. She told them both that he, Loghain, would betray Maric if he kept him close, each time greater than the last. Loghain had hoped it all forgotten, but it was obvious now that across the years those words had hunted them both just as surely as a creature of the Wilds stalked prey.

"Nothing is coming, Maric," he insisted, speaking into the darkened room. "It's just shadows and lies. It's nothing."


	8. Chapter 8

19 Cloudreach, 9:25 Dragon Age.

"_Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir of Gwaren, High Councillor to the King, and Teyrna Elissa Mac Tir nee Cousland!"_

The hall was already crowded by the time they arrived and the herald had begun to sound bored with his work, but when Elissa and Loghain approached, he put some gusto into it. It had an effect. As the couple stepped forward and looked down into the royal ballroom, every eye turned to stare and there was an audible flush of whispering that sounded like wind through a forest.

"Ever feel like a fox just loosed to the hounds?" Ellie whispered sidelong.

Loghain's grimace curled into a half-grin. "Every damn time."

This wasn't like every other time, however, not for either of them. The king's ball was the first time they were appearing in Denerim society as husband and wife. Elissa had determined to prove what she had once told Loghain, that she could be arm dressing when she wanted to be. She chose dark green silk, and put her hair up with a little more attention than the usual ponytail or sloppy pile. Meanwhile she had convinced her husband to wear his velvets rather than armor. He chose a white silk undertunic with black velvet cape and hose, black boots, and wore a gold livery about his neck bearing the royal and Gwaren seals.

As they stepped into the crowd, stares turned to smiles and Elissa relaxed a little. For better or worse, these were the people she had grown up with and she had cut her teeth on their manner of thinking and talking. It was not difficult to fall into it again. To most of them her marriage to Loghain had been a surprise but one they considered a coup for Highever. There were profuse congratulations, and she overheard Loghain fielding the same. The attention was soon drawn away from them, however, as the herald's voice rose again.

"_Prince Cailan Theirin, heir to the throne of Calenhad the Silver Knight, and Lady Anora Mac Tir of Gwaren!"_

Elissa turned her eyes up to look along with the rest of the crowd. Cailan and Anora were each splendid-looking on their own, young and polished, but together as a couple they were breathtaking. It was as if a portrait painter had sat down and tried to craft a royal pair that would bewitch the eye. Cailan's long blonde hair was drawn back and he wore white and sky blue silks, matched perfectly to Anora's blue dress. Elissa guessed that Anora had planned the wardrobe down to the last detail. Along with everyone else, she smiled up at them, almost believing the illusion of a perfect crown pair. Everyone wanted to believe in it, and she did as well, though she knew better.

Cailan and Anora made their way through the crowd toward the royal dais at the other end of the hall, and only then did the herald speak up again. _"The Savior of Ferelden, His Majesty King Maric Theirin. May the merciful Maker and Andraste his prophet save our king!"_

Everyone in the hall, Elissa and Loghain included, knelt as Maric descended and walked past them, boots echoing at a fast clip. After he had passed her, she glanced up, watching as he stepped up on the dais and took his seat. He smiled, waving a hand and saying, "Get up, please, get up. Not much of a party from down there." There was a ripple of laughter in the room as people rose, and in one corner the musicians began to play.

Though the king was his typical easy self, it struck Elissa that he had had to enter the hall without anyone on his arm, and that he alone was not met with smiles and handshakes but in a hush and with eyes downcast. It must be a lonely thing for someone so personable as Maric. Such thoughts had never occurred to Ellie before she herself became so close to the royal circle, but she made a note to ask Loghain later why the king had never taken another queen.

"We can sit on the dais if you like." Loghain was at her elbow, though he kept his hands clasped behind him and didn't touch her.

Ellie smiled and shook her head. "I think I will mingle, if you don't mind."

"As you wish."

She watched as her husband made his way to the dais and stood by Maric's chair, leaning down to say something to the king. Loghain's expression was the same stern, dignified mask she had grown used to seeing him wear in public. As much as Maric was known for his laconic smile, Loghain was the one who stood by, observant and stern. The stance suited him, but it was strange for Elissa to see him so now. When she first came to Denerim with her parents, she had held the Hero of River Dane in awe and found him not a little scary. Oddly there was still some of that awe and intimidation when she looked at him standing above them all. She had to remind herself that it was the same man who now held her at night, sat at her dinner table and made little jokes with her as they walked through the market.

Ellie did not mind being set alone on the crowd. Though she was not as much of a gossip hound as other noblewomen, she did love conversation. It was like a hunt. You never knew what you were going to find when you batted the hedgerows. There inevitably would be whole thickets of dull posturing and mean-spirited grasping, but every now and again you could shake someone loose who had something unique and worthwhile to say, and that made the exercise worth it. As the guests moved back to allow for dancing in the center of the ballroom, she spotted some interesting quarry along one wall. They were three men, armored and looking out of place, more like misfit guards than guests. The nobles were giving them a wide berth. Ellie made right for them.

"Duncan! I'm surprised to see you here."

The Grey Warden bowed his head, black eyes smiling as he replied, "Teyrna Elissa. It is a pleasure to see you again. Yes, I don't usually come to events like this, but the king made a special invitation and you don't say no lightly to that."

"Well I'm glad, for one. I was worried there wouldn't be anyone interesting to talk to."

Duncan chuckled. "It is kind of you to say so, Teyrna. Let me introduce my companions. This is Erec de Voye, and that is Edwin Hull, both Grey Wardens also."

Elissa curtsied, and one of the Wardens leaned in to Duncan to say, "You were right, Duncan. It was worth getting dressed up to see the pretty women."

"Mind your manners, Ed. The teyrna here could cut your knees out from under you with that serving knife, for one thing."

The Warden lifted a brow, and Ellie replied with a laugh, "Not likely. For one thing, I have heard how fearsome the Wardens are. Not that Duncan has consented to show me what he can do, yet. I keep challenging him but he just stands back and watches the practices."

"I'm observing and learning, teyrna. One can always learn new things. I..."

A voice from behind them cut Duncan off mid-sentence. "I see you are familiar with Ferelden's famed Grey Wardens, Elissa." She recognized the voice immediately and tensed. Though Ellie hoped that she would someday be able to be around Cailan without awkwardness, that day had not yet arrived.

"Prince Cailan. Yes, your father introduced me to Duncan."

"You won't find a better warrior in all of Thedas." The prince emphasized the declaration by clapping the Warden commander on the shoulder.

Duncan smiled wryly. "You flatter me, Prince Cailan."

"Not a bit of it. You know you still owe me that story about how you got recruited, Duncan. Father won't budge, he says I have to get it out of you. For now I was actually hoping to steal Elissa. Will you grant me a dance, Teyrna?"

Ellie felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. Glancing around, she realized just how firmly she was caught. Cailan would not take it well if she refused him in front of other people, especially other men and warriors he admired. Yet the fact that she had not yet danced with any man but the prince would not go unnoticed. Feebly she nodded and allowed Cailan to take her hand and draw her out onto the floor.

The eyes on them were palpable as Ellie hesitantly positioned her hands and waited for Cailan to lead. For the prince's part, he was not hesitant at all, grasping Elissa's hand and waist firmly, eyes fixed on her as they began to move. "Anora's lessons pay off after all," he said with a smile. Ellie made no reply and he leaned in to whisper, "Don't be nervous. You don't think I would do anything untoward with your husband glaring down at us, do you?"

Ellie did not want to check to see if Loghain indeed was glaring. She could well imagine it, though no doubt her husband was the picture of mildness compared to Anora. Laughing nervously, she answered, "Of course not. I've just never been a good dancer, you know that."

"You didn't dance at all at your wedding, as I recall." That hung in the air a moment. "You looked so beautiful, Elissa. As you do now. You are as beautiful as you ever were."

"Thank you." Elissa's face was scarlet, she knew, but she fought to calm her breath, reminding herself that it was only a dance. As they moved, the prince's nearness had a peculiar effect. It had not been so long since they were lovers, long enough that she had forgotten little details which now came back to her, short enough that the sensations these memories brought her were potent. Ferelden's prince had lively, expressive blue eyes and a sensuous mouth, both of these an attractive compliment to his rowdy masculinity. She caught a familiar scent of orange and sandalwood. Though she knew little of the Orlesian nobility, it occured to Ellie that Cailan's mixture of Fereldan roughness and cultured virility would likely be a sensation among them.

The prince had not been her first. That honor had gone to a squire, later a knight, who had taken her first on top of some feed sacks in the stables. His idea of foreplay consisted of asking "may I, milady" right before he plunged into her, sometimes after he had done so. With Cailan it was different. He had approached her first in Highever, and unlike her knight lover, he was gentle and solicitous. The very things that alienated other men, her irreverence and her athleticism, seemed to fascinate him and stir his sense of adventure. After one such a ball as this in Denerim, they evaded his guard and her parents and stole away, half-drunk. He led Elissa along the secret passages that only the royal family knew, kissing and discarding clothing as they went. They did not even make it back to his chambers before he had her, up against a wall full of cobwebs. Towards morning, lying tangled in his bed, Cailan had spoken about the kingship and his hopes for it, sounding so earnest.

The noblewomen who craved him did so simply because he was handsome and charming, because he was powerful, not even knowing how sweet he could be. Cailan also knew how to tease a thrill from almost any situation. The dusty passageway was neither the most public nor the most unique place they borrowed for trysts. It all made for a heady combination for a young woman who herself was more spirited than careful. For a time Elissa took it to be love and thought herself the luckiest woman in Ferelden. When she began to grow up, to wake up and see what she had done, she found that it was much harder to say no to a prince than to a squire.

Glancing over the prince's shoulder in the crowded ballroom, Ellie took in the people staring at them, and instantly she knew what they were whispering to each other. It was common knowledge in the nobility that she and Cailan had been lovers. They would now all be wondering if Elissa had married Loghain in order to get close to the prince. It was a perfect cover for a liaison. Cailan got to marry Anora, a politically popular and well suited queen to whom he had long been betrothed, but he would have his paramour, too, one who had every excuse to be in the palace. Elissa got to marry the second most powerful man in Ferelden, enjoying prestige and security, all the while keeping the pillow of the future king. All of them, they were watching her now wondering if it was true. They would assume it was true. Cailan should know better, but she could see in the intensity of his gaze that he hoped it was true, too. Elissa cursed herself the fool for not recognizing sooner how it would be.

Pulling back, she broke the embrace with the prince and curtsied awkwardly, only briefly meeting his gaze. "Thank you for the dance, Cailan. You honor me." She didn't wait for a response before she moved off into the crowd, finding a drink table and accepting a glass of wine from a steward.

She was still shakily sipping from her glass when a figure moved up beside her. "Not dancing, Elissa?"

"Your Majesty. Prince Cailan favored me, but..."

"Yes, he's the only man here who dares Loghain's wrath." Maric chuckled. Ellie stole a look at the king and wondered if he could really be innocent of the implications. Perhaps he was just too good-natured to believe anything but the face value of a situation, or he didn't want to see that his son was in a tangle. They were both silent a moment before Maric spoke up again. "If it's not too forward of me to ask, it seems that there is a genuine affection between you and Loghain. Is that true?"

The question was telling. Perhaps the king did see, and he was wondering what everyone else was wondering: Which man had brought her to Denerim. Nodding, Ellie answered without hesitation. "Yes, it's true. I care for Loghain, and I believe he is coming to care for me."

"Good. That's very good." Maric spoke with conviction. "He's the strongest man in this room, but it only means that he needs you all the more."

Ellie did not know what to say. She was known for her frankness, but hadn't ever been so open with the king before. "Needs me?"

"Yes. Certainly, yes. He might not even know it, but all the more reason he does. Don't let him tell you otherwise, or make you think otherwise by his standoffish ways."

"I will keep that in mind, Your Majesty."

"And since I'm making presumptuous demands of you, I would ask you one more. In the days ahead, Cailan will need friends, too. I know there has been some history between you two, though not exactly what. I don't want to know. If you can see your way clear, please just help him, in whatever way you can. Be a friend to him." Ellie was surprised to hear the earnestness in the king's voice. He was pleading with her. Searching for the hidden meanings behind Maric's words, for whether he was trying to warn her or pry information from her or something more subtle, she soon decided that it was likely that he meant only what he said. Of all the political animals in the room, the king was the least political of them all.

With her own measure of earnestness, Ellie assured him, "I will try. I am Cailan's friend, for my part. I wish only his good as well as my husband's."

Maric smiled. "I believe you. Loghain is lucky to have you, Elissa. We all are." Shaking his head and laughing, he added, "The Maker knows, even if no one else does, that it is not the men who keep this kingdom together. It is women like you. You remind me of Cailan's mother, Queen Rowan, do you know that? Has Loghain ever told you that?"

She shook her head. "No, he hasn't mentioned it."

Maric was silent, thoughtful. "Ah. Well, never mind. It's true, and that is a high compliment."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

The king hesitated, then went on, "I am pushing my luck, but I would ask you two more favors. First, that you would call me Maric. I don't have many true friends in this hall and I would like to think that you are one of them by now. Second, that you might dance with me." At Ellie's surprised look, he laughed and said, "You see, I dare Loghain's wrath as well. But maybe it was a bad idea?"

Ellie answered quickly. "No, it was a fine idea. I would be honored."

Maric took her hand and stepped out onto the floor, then paused and looked up at the dais at Loghain, gesturing in an obvious request for permission. The teyrn was seated, leaning sideways and braced on the chair arm. When he noticed Maric and Ellie, his brow lifted. After a pause, his expression turned to a wry grin and he waved a hand expansively. Ellie saw that a joke was passing between the two men even at that distance, as though Maric was the subject and Loghain the emperor giving him a boon.

"You see," Maric turned back to Ellie, laughing, "I dare, but only so much." The king positioned himself and waited for Ellie to do the same. His manner was halting, even shy. "It has been some time since I did this," he explained, earnest with concentration. After a moment, as they maneuvered slowly through the other dancers, he relaxed. "There you see. Not so bad. I usually don't do this, you understand. It wouldn't be politic. No matter who the lady, people would gossip or assume it meant I was giving favor. But Loghain's wife is a different story. You rather upset the balance of things around here, Elissa."

"I'm... glad?" She laughed, unsure how to take his words.

Maric nodded with a grin. "I think you should be. I am."

Ellie glanced around them, catching the same stares that the onlookers had given her and Cailan. Some of the guests were smiling, charmed at the sight of the king dancing. Others leaned in with puzzled whispers. No doubt there were jealous women, if Maric's dancing hand was indeed so rare. However Ellie could guess that there might be sharper gossip, as well. Seeing her together with Maric, some of these cackling nabobs would no doubt suggest it was not Cailan but his father the widower king that the Cousland tart really was after. Perhaps they would wonder if she was trying for double or nothing. Ellie could only imagine the sordid speculations, and Maker, the _confusion_. She suppressed an urge to laugh, and suddenly found herself having a grand time.

"Are you looking forward to your journey tomorrow, Your Majesty?"

"Maric. That's Maric. And yes, it's been a long time since I've looked forward to anything more. We all need a change, eh?"

"You must hurry back to us. Loghain will be cranky without you."

"Crankier than usual, you mean," the king replied with a grin. "I would like to say that you'll see more of him with me gone, but I'd be lying. Looking over Cailan's shoulder is even more work than looking over mine."

"He would rather be nowhere else, I think."

Maric regarded her with a wistful smile. "You may change that."

When the music picked up pace and the assembly began a complicated country dance, the king begged off and returned to the dais. Ellie likewise found herself without partners for a while, since no one wanted to follow the king. Duncan could not be persuaded for any threat or bribe, but the talkative Warden, Edwin, was more pliable. As the evening wore on, Ellie sometimes sat with Loghain on the dais, studiously avoided Cailan and Anora, and danced with a few other noblemen. At last, after much grumbling and the pink ears Ellie had learned were a telltale sign that Loghain was embarrassed, she persuaded him to dance as well.

He was stiff at it, but technically familiar. "Someone has taught you," Ellie remarked, surprised. Armored as he was at their wedding, and nervous as they both were, they hadn't even attempted to dance then.

"Did you think me an ox in such things?"

"Maybe." She had to admit it was true, but laughed, and Loghain smiled a little as well.

"Celia. It was Celia. She was a fine dancer."

Elissa accepted no more partners after that. She did notice that a few bold women followed her lead and danced with the king. For whatever reason, perhaps because he was feeling reckless before his journey, Maric was accepting them. Ellie smiled to see it, glad that apparently she had, indeed, upset the balance.

When they finally took their leave and made the walk to their new residence, Loghain remained quiet. Ellie was used to his silences and mostly took them as simply his way, though it often left her feeling the chatterbox. She let him alone that night, however.

At home she could hear Anya snoring in her room, the occasional murmurs of the ever-present royal guard at their doorway, and the chuckle of water from a spillway in the nearby pond. Otherwise the house was blessedly quiet compared to the palace. It was too large to be called a "cottage" by anyone but pretentious Orlesian nobles. The house was also well-made, more modern than the rest of the palace, with fewer echoes and drafts. Elissa guessed that Maric had wanted to keep her happy. After this night she also wondered if his thought had been to spare her having to live down the hall from his son.

As the couple were undressing, Loghain said with an obviously forced casualness, "I saw that you danced with Cailan."

"Yes. He asked me in front of others and I didn't feel able to turn him down."

There was a long pause before Loghain spoke again. He was undoing his belts, and kept his eyes anywhere but on her. "Ellie, these past months I have been flattered by your manner with me. More than flattered, I have been honored. If you ever want things to be otherwise, I simply ask that you be honest with me. It would be wise if you did not renew your relationship with Cailan, but if it is what you really want, I won't get in your way. Nothing more will be said, I..."

Loghain cut off as Elissa approached him. She pulled on his arm and drew him to sit on the bed next to her. He finally did meet her eyes then, and as they regarded each other silently, Ellie begin to suspect something. She had taken her husband's reticence towards her initially as the awkwardness of a forced intimacy, and then as apathy towards her, apathy which was occasionally put aside out of physical appetite. As she reached a hand up to brush the hair back from his eyes, the thought came to her that perhaps Loghain did not understand her interest in him for what it was. Could it be that he did not know how handsome she found him, what the force of his gaze could do to her? She knew he was used to intimidating people with it, but maybe he was unaware that he could stir passion with it as well. Perhaps he didn't see her regard for him, or took it for something less than what had actually been growing in her mind. All of Denerim's gasbags might be wondering if she was just using him, and they were welcome to speculate, but Loghain should not be left to wonder.

He watched her, hands resting on her waist, as she brushed at his temple. "You are a handsome man, husband," she murmured.

"Am I." He sounded skeptical, and amused.

"Yes. You have strong features."

"Strong is a fine way to say ugly."

Ellie laughed, pushing at him. "You are a stubborn beast. Are you going to keep contradicting me?"

"A beast. Now you're getting closer to the mark."

She smiled mischievously, as though she was letting him in on a secret. As she apparently was. "You don't know what strong hands do for a woman?" Loghain regarded her silently, but now his eyes were curious. When he didn't reply, Ellie went on, "Your touch is... very nice. Strong is good. I like strong."

His hands rubbed her waist, voice thoughtful. "I'm glad. I didn't know you felt that way."

Ellie nodded. "I do. My manner with you, as you call it, is not a question of flattery. I am with you because I like to be."

Loghain took a breath, sliding his hands along her back. "I can't say I mind being with you, either. You are a beautiful woman, and very kind to say such things. Why are you telling me this, exactly?"

"I thought you ought to know how I feel about you." She let her eyes roam over his face, picking out details. "Curious that your hair has not gone silver as other men's. Just a few strands here and there."

"My mother's father was the same," he replied. "Black as midnight, though he died at a good old age. Mother thought we might have some elven blood somewhere. They are not supposed to age as humans do. I don't know if that is true, it's just what she thought."

"You look like your mother?"

"I have her hair, at any rate." He paused, then his jaw set and he went on, "The Orlesians killed her. They raped her first, and then they killed her. Did you know that?" Ellie was startled at the sudden turn, but she nodded silently. After a moment he continued in an even voice. "They made my father and me watch. Father fought them and they knocked him out, but I wasn't strong enough. They held me fast and I saw it all."

By this time there was a clenching in the hands that held her waist. Elissa held still, waiting, acutely aware of every sound around them. Never had he spoken so freely of what happened. She knew it had been something terrible, but to hear it in his words was something else entirely. Nevertheless if Loghain wanted to tell her, she would hear it all. What Maric said earlier came back to her, that because Loghain was strong he needed her even more. "Go on."

His eyes had narrowed with the memory, but his voice remained impassive, as though he were giving a simple report. "Mother was crying. She told me that she loved me, told me to close my eyes, and while they ravaged her she begged those animals please just not to hurt her son. They didn't. They didn't harm me at all. After they killed her, they left and I sat with her body until my father woke up. He took one look at her and asked me which direction they went, but I didn't know, so he went off and tracked them on his own. I buried her on the hill above our house. Some neighbors helped, and the women cleaned the blood off the floor. I didn't want to sleep there and they took me in. Father found me three days later. He had killed the Orlesian commander who led the attack and we couldn't go home anymore. We became bandits after that, wanted men."

Elissa swallowed hard. "I am so sorry, my love."

Flinching, Loghain asked sharply, "Why do you call me that?"

She reached up and touched his cheek. "It's what I'm trying to tell you." Her fingers moved across his face and down to loosen the collar of his tunic. Gently she kissed the center of his neck before moving up to his ear, letting her lips trace his jawline. Loghain's hands slid up her back, but she could feel that he was still tense, still wary.

"You can't love me. You don't even know me."

Pulling back, Ellie leaned her arms lightly against his chest and met his gaze. "I could know you if you would talk to me, but you haven't done that very much. Why did you decide to tell me about your mother?"

"You are my wife. You should know how it was." After a pause, he added, more softly, "My mother would have liked you. She said there aren't enough sensible women in the world."

Elissa smiled. "She would also be proud of you, don't you think?" He was silent at that, refusing to commit to such a statement. After a moment's thought, she waded in to what she knew was dangerous territory. There had been an opening, however, and perhaps it was time. "What about Celia? I know you cared for her. Did you love her?"

Loghain hesitated a long while, then extracted himself from her embrace and sat up, huddling on the edge of the bed with his arms on his knees and head low. He sat like that for a few moments more, finally speaking up quietly. "Yes, but there was another woman I loved more. We were forced to part and I married Celia too quickly afterward, maybe for the wrong reasons."

Elissa absorbed this information. And now she knew something else that had been just there beneath her consciousness, beneath the routine of polite familiarity and physical intimacy that they had settled into. "You still think about that woman, don't you?"

"Yes."

"When you're with me?"

"Sometimes." Loghain brushed a hand over his eyes, and Elissa saw the guilt in this gesture. "She was much like you. We never really had a chance. It was never going to be."

"Who was she?"

He paused a beat before he answered. "I'm talking about Rowan. It was during the war, and by the time the usurpers were gone, we had ended it."

Ellie's eyes went wide. "_Queen_ Rowan?"

Loghain nodded. "That is what she became, yes. She was betrothed to Maric as a child." Sitting back, Elissa let this sink in. He had loved the woman who became Maric's wife, and both of them had not only borne this, they had remained friends despite the fact that even now, years later, Loghain was still thinking of her. Had there been rumors? Yes, Ellie remembered something like that being said, but hadn't paid much attention. People told so many stories from the time of the rebellion, and most of them were rubbish.

After a moment Loghain looked up, and in the spare light Elissa could see the pain in his eyes. He spoke with a muted bitterness. "There you have it. That's the whole sordid tale. You wanted to know about me, and there it is. I sent the woman I loved to marry another man because duty demanded it."

"It's not sordid. Not sordid at all. It's just sad, and I'm sorry for all of you. I don't know what else to say."

"Rowan never forgave me. I loved her, but the country needed her. Maric needed her."

"You said that I remind you of her?" At his nod, Elissa paused. This was a risk, but she felt that he was practically begging her to ask it, so she did. "Have you ever considered that perhaps the Maker is giving you a second chance? With me?"

His tone was pained. "Don't toy with me, Ellie, I beg you."

She eased him back against the headboard, leaning on his chest and trying to catch his eyes with her own. "I am not toying with you. I am not Rowan, but I do care for you. If you care for me, perhaps there is a chance for us to have something. Maybe not what you had with her, but something, at least. Do you feel anything at all for me?"

Eyes feverish, Loghain reached up to touch her hair. "It doesn't matter, Ellie. I told you what happened to my mother, how I could not save her. I told you what I did to Rowan and what that made me do to Celia. Do you want something like that to happen to you, too? Even if it doesn't, my duty will always interfere. I will keep my promise and keep our marriage, but you should choose another man to love."

"There is a problem. I have chosen you."

Loghain shook his head, closing his eyes and saying wearily, "Don't. Please don't."

Grasping his hand, she continued. "Is it because so many terrible things have happened that you think only something bad can come of our marriage? Maybe it will and maybe it won't, but there is good here, too. _This _is good. I'm here now." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Loghain remained stiff at first, impassive, but eventually his lips parted and he accepted the kiss, pulling her closer.

When they broke it at last, he whispered roughly, "It is good. I won't deny that."

Elissa smiled. "See. And this is good." Her kisses teased along his neck. Loghain fought her for a time still, only giving her just the next inch of himself, but neither did he pull away. Finally Elissa drew back, watching him. She would not force him, not even with tenderness.

"I just want to say one thing." Loghain's voice was hoarse with emotion or desire, perhaps both.

For her part, Ellie felt both, and there was now added to it a tug of anxiety as she waited. "Yes?"

"I am not the only stubborn one here."

Elissa paused with surprise, then laughed. Before she could say anything in reply, Loghain caught her up and kissed her, hunger and decision in his manner where before had been hesitation. He reached to tug at her laces. Slowly and methodically, they undressed one another, Ellie caressing each ripple of muscle and scar with careful attention. He allowed it for a time before pressing her back on the bed and drawing his lips across her skin in deliberate slowness, pausing at her sensitive points, finally coming to rest between her thighs where he resumed his attention.

Later, Ellie would come to think of it as their true wedding night, when they married each other not for what everyone else wanted of them but for what they chose for themselves. In unspoken agreement they had decided to trust one another for more than just their political standing, and to allow some hope for their future. It was a night she would hold on to. It was also the night before everything changed.


	9. Chapter 9

_Continued thanks for the fabulous readers and reviewers, and thanks to my trusty beta reader SurelyForth. I'm kerploweyed by all the response. A couple reviewers have asked for more Maric stuff. I can suggest my little story _Empty Eyes_ which is told from his perspective. It has a follow-up called _Out of the Blue_, though Maric does not appear in that one. As always, Dragon Age belongs to BioWare. –A._

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16 Justinian, 9:25 Dragon Age.

"Loghain."

He heard and did not hear Ellie speaking at first. Even when he did, it was as though from a great distance and his face remained a mask, unmoving.

"Loghain, the Grand Cleric came to the residence. She says you will not see her."

When he finally spoke, Loghain's voice was laced with controlled bitterness. "Does Her Reverence wish to remind me about the Maker's mysterious ways?"

Ellie came closer. "She did not come to give a sermon. Well, not only that."

The teyrn did not look at his wife as she drew a chair up beside his and put a hand on his arm. It had been several days since he had seen her, and long weeks of sleepless nights where they had barely spoken three words together. It was as if their bridal winter had only been a dream and hadn't really happened. Events had demanded this complete dedication of him, but so too had his need to keep control, a control that Ellie threatened whenever she was near. Nevertheless he was not displeased that she had won the argument with his guard in the hall.

Glancing up at her, Loghain asked hoarsely, "Are you well?" He had the urge to touch her, even to hold her, but held back.

Ellie smiled and nodded, though her manner was strained. She went on in a quietly earnest tone. "Loghain, you must call the Landsmeet. The lords are already arriving, but those close by will not come until you summon them. Preparations must be made."

For a time he made no move, and no reply, but the muscles of his cheek twitched. Finally he asked, "Are they all so eager?"

"It has been six weeks." She reached out to grasp his hand, meant no doubt to comfort him, but he jerked it away.

"Maric is your king! He is their king. Will you all simply give up, and the search ships not even returned?"

"They did return. You sent them away again. There has been no word, nothing. If there was going to be a ransom demand, would we not have received it already? Would your agents not have turned something up by now?" Loghain made no answer, resentful that he could not contradict anything she said, but unwilling to acknowledge its truth out loud. After a moment Ellie went on. "Everyone is waiting for you. Cailan is waiting for you. He is ready now."

"I wish that were true." He hesitated, fighting, then shook his head. "I want proof. I need... something. I can't just throw him away. Not without knowing. Do you think it does the country good to forget Maric so quickly?"

"No one will ever forget, but that is part of the problem. For now all is well, as much as can be expected. If you delay too much, however, people will start to express doubts about Cailan. They will think you have doubts. And if this _was_ a plot by our enemies, those enemies will win if Ferelden is paralyzed."

After a moment's silence, Loghain forced a grim smile. "You have been talking to Anora."

"I have been talking to a great many people." Ellie stood to go, but lingered. Her tone softened. "Come home tonight. Please. You need rest." When he did not acknowledge this, she sighed, turning. Over her shoulder she added, "The Grand Cleric is in the receiving room. Do not keep her waiting too long or she might burn the palace down as a last resort."

Afterward he was alone again in the darkening study with one lamp burning. There were piles of reports and correspondence on his desk, neat piles. Though he had circles under his eyes, Loghain was clean shaven and his clothes were tidy. His armor, one set for ceremony and one for practice, stood polished on their stands. He had kept the kingdom's business going as well as he could, but Elissa was right that the restlessness in the city and in greater Ferelden was growing. Chapels were full of smallfolk praying for Maric's return. The nobles were slowly filling Denerim and sat in their salons and taverns talking of ill winds and conspiracies. As proud and confident as Cailan had been just after his father's departure, unhappy with the fact that Maric had appointed Loghain his regent rather than him, he had been stricken by the realization that his father might actually be dead. Even on a good day Cailan was not efficient at the business of ruling, but as paralyzed as Maric's disappearance left him, the awful details of managing the crisis had been left to Loghain. He had taken them up with ruthless efficiency, even as his own fear and guilt over Maric's fate gnawed at the edges of his mind.

Six weeks prior, Loghain and Ellie, along with Cailan and Anora and much of the court, had seen Maric off at the docks. There was a great press of people lining the streets all the way to the harbor. New, shiny ships and the king going out on them, that was enough to fire the imagination of every Fereldan child. Maric himself, though he seemed determined, would sometimes grin as though he was keeping a happy secret. At the docks, he had leaned in to whisper to Loghain, "Remember what I said about my sons." Then he clasped his friend's arm fast and declared earnestly, "Thank you, Loghain. For everything. Be happy with that new wife of yours. I am glad I can leave the kingdom in yours and Cailan's hands, but I'm also glad to leave you in hers."

The flagship was called _Andraste's Flame _and had been painted an appropriate red and gold, and a figure of the prophetess adorned its prow. It was not the name Maric had wanted for his ship, but the Grand Cleric insisted that the kingdom's new navy acknowledge the Maker at its head. Thus the name _Queen Rowan_ was given to one of the faster support ships and _Haakon _to the other one, both of these painted blue. At one of the planning meetings, Loghain had noted the irony that a human queen and an Avvar god would be looking out for Andraste. That had earned him a cold glare from the Grand Cleric. Together the small fleet made an attractive complement, though Loghain was not as enamored of them as Maric.

"Watch yourself, Maric," Loghain had told the king uneasily as he was preparing to board. "If there is any trouble, any at all, just turn back. The Imperium was not built in a day and neither shall our little project here."

"I would tell you not to worry, but you're an old hen like that," Maric had returned, smiling with more wistfulness than his wont. He glanced up at the ship and sighed, saying, "Isn't she a beauty?" Then he gave Loghain and Cailan one last grin before he turned to walk up the gangplank, to the cheers of onlookers and sailor alike.

The royal fleet put in at Highever a few days later without incident, made a short stay, and afterward struck oar for Kirkwall. The first reports of something amiss came from the port master of that city. He sent a message asking when His Majesty King Maric might be expected to arrive, assuming that the Fereldan fleet had been delayed by the storm that had troubled the central Waking Sea. Around the same time that message was on its way to Denerim, an Antivan cutter noticed ship wreckage on the Barrow Isles, a few uninhabited rocks in the eastern part of the Sea. Though the Denerim-bound vessel did not stop to collect any of the flotsam, the crew reported that all the wooden pieces they had seen were blue. No other ship from the Free Marches or elsewhere in Ferelden could give any report of having sighted the king's fleet.

It was likely, so the Denerim shipmaster told Loghain, that the king's fleet had turned northeast to avoid the storm, making for the large island of Brandel's Reach or the port of Chadwick in the eastern Free Marches. There the inexperienced crew might have floundered on rocks, or the storm had simply caught up to them after all. The shipmaster vouched for his ship design, but had to allow that sometimes ships sank so entirely that nothing was ever found of them. It took all of Loghain's restraint not to have the man clapped in irons. His fury turned elsewhere, however. Despite the fact that there had been a storm, Loghain suspected foul play, the work of pirates or foreign governments or both. His agents, such as they were, began turning every stone both in and outside Ferelden. Thus far what they had turned up had been like the blue-painted wreckage: Useless and inconclusive. _Andraste's Flame_ was simply gone.

Though every day that passed without any word meant more certainly that Maric was dead, Loghain fought that idea with vigor. Once before, years earlier, the king had abruptly disappeared for weeks. It turned out that he was helping some Grey Wardens whose machinations might have gotten him captured by Orlesian agents or killed or both. Dicey as that incident had been, Loghain had found him in time and they fought their way out of the trap the Wardens had led him into. It had to be that the same thing would happen again, that Maric would return all smiles and wondering what the fuss was about.

Late that night, after having battled through the meeting with the Grand Cleric, Loghain found himself at home and standing in the parlor doorway as though needing permission to enter. Ellie was on a settee with a book balanced on her lap, one hand ruffling the head of her mabari who sat at her knee. Loghain glanced from her to the attendant Anya. The mage caught his look and got up, mumbling, to retreat to her own room. When she was gone, the couple stared in silence at one another a few moments.

Finally Loghain spoke, defeat in his voice. "I agreed to her demands. The Landsmeet will convene in one week."

From where she sat, Ellie nodded. "It's necessary, Loghain. The country must go on."

"I am aware." Maric had always said the same thing, that he was not as important as everyone believed. They would all soon find out, Loghain thought wearily. He then changed the subject. "When will your father arrive?"

"I got a message that he and Fergus had already set out from Highever overland. Tomorrow, I should think."

"Good." Loghain stirred from his spot and began to walk past her towards his rooms when Ellie spoke up again.

"Shall I come to your chamber tonight?"

He stopped, looked down at the floor for a long moment, then over his shoulder replied, "I'm sorry. I think..."

"It's alright. I just wanted to know."

"Good night."

Sleep came no more easily to Loghain that night than had conversation. Ever since the night he had dreamt of Maric's body floating, blonde hair tangled with seaweed and his eyes open, staring, there had been little sleep for him. Loghain dreamt of him again some nights later, the king's face similarly bloated and pale, seaweed in his hair, only this time they were at the witch's hut in the Korcari Wilds. Maric emerged from the hut staring at him with a vacant smile and would not speak. That had been the end of Loghain's attempts to try to sleep a full night at home. Nor could he conscience enjoying his wife's company while Maric was perhaps in grave peril somewhere, while so many details pressed on his mind, and while he needed to remain in control of his thoughts lest he not be able to do what needed to be done. The teyrn took what sleep he could in his study at the palace. It was better for both of them, he told himself, to keep a certain distance until things had settled down. Involving Elissa in the details of what he was going through would be a burden to her, and one that was his responsibility and not hers.

On the following afternoon, Elissa sent him word that her father and brother had arrived and that she would dine with them that night at the Couslands' small estate in the city, and likely sleep there as well. Loghain was wistfully glad that she had company other than his own.

The following day Ellie came to the palace requesting a meeting with him as well as with Cailan and Anora. This was so unusual that all of them were on edge as they gathered in Loghain's study. Cailan's haggard look of weeks prior had passed, and it looked like he at least was getting some sleep, but his manner was more subdued than usual. It looked to Loghain that he had grown up a bit. Not enough, perhaps, but a bit.

"Eamon let you out of his sight, did he?" he asked, not concealing his sarcasm. The arl of Redcliffe had shown up in Denerim before half the country even knew that Maric was missing. After that the silver-haired arl had been haunting the palace more and more frequently. He was always pulling Cailan aside, arm around his shoulders, and inviting him and other nobles to his pretentious estate in the market district.

Cailan waved a hand. "Uncle is just concerned, that's all. He is trying to help."

"I'm sure he is." It was more likely that he was helping himself, Loghain thought. He had gotten along well enough with Rowan's younger brothers, but there was never any great affection. Teagan was an amiable and a private man but also an inconsequential one, ducking any sort of responsibility, while the middle brother Eamon was too much passive ambition. He had always presumed much because of his relationship to the queen, considering himself some sort of mentor to Maric as though he had inherited Arl Rendorn's mantle. This, when Eamon had barely even known the noble father who had died in the rebellion while he and Teagan were off being raised by cousins in the north. The elder Guerrin son had joined the rebellion himself eventually, but only late in the day when the Orlesians were already on their heels.

Ellie entered, cutting off any further chatter. She greeted them brusquely and barely looked at Loghain, her manner all business. "Thank you for coming. I wish to bring something to your attention. Some of the nobility here for the Landsmeet have approached me, seeking my support for a bid to put my father on the throne."

"What?" Cailan and Anora cried out simultaneously. Loghain was silent, arms crossed and head low, studying his wife intently. If there were a time for Cousland national ambitions to show themselves, this would be it.

Ellie nodded soberly and went on, "They approached me because Father is resistant to the idea and they wanted me to persuade him." There was a tense moment before she added, "I am not going to do that, of course."

Cailan relaxed visibly, but Anora was still sitting bolt upright in her chair. Her tone was determined. "I want to know who these people are. I should talk to them. Reason with them."

After a long pause, Elissa replied, "I think I shall decline to reveal that." Before Anora could argue, she lifted a hand. "I gave them my confidence, but mostly I refuse because I don't think your involvement is necessary. I'm certain I can convince them, if Father himself cannot, to give up the idea. I simply wanted you all to be prepared that there could be a challenge to Cailan's bid at the Landsmeet."

"Why are they doing this?" Cailan sounded confused, and hurt.

Ellie turned to him, her expression softening. "People are frightened, Cailan. To many, your father _was_ Ferelden. You know yourself that he was no ordinary king. Even those who should know better carried a mystical faith in him and his reign, whereas you are young and untried." She hesitated, glancing at Loghain, and the teyrn gave a small nod for her to go ahead. His wife was handling matters ably, more ably than he had imagined she could, and he saw no need to intervene. Turning back to the prince, Ellie continued, "My father proved himself in the rebellion and they have known him all their lives. As I told you, I don't think they are serious about this bid. I can convince them, you'll see."

Cailan's confusion was turning to anger. "For their sakes, you had better."

"Calm yourself," Anora interjected, recovering her own composure at last. "This does mean that you ought to consider my suggestion again, Cailan. I should stand with you on the Landsmeet floor."

It was obvious from the prince's expression that this had been a point of argument. Before Cailan could respond, Ellie spoke up mildly. "It is something to consider. People like their queens, it is simply a matter of fact." There was an uncomfortable pause. Loghain could see that everyone was turning over the irony of Elissa Cousland-Mac Tir making that statement. There being not much more to discuss, the meeting broke with the understanding that Elissa would handle this matter herself. She and Loghain spoke briefly, in quiet tones, over their plans for the following few days. As Ellie was leaving, he made to lean in to kiss her cheek, but she had already turned and he let it go.

Before the ordeal of the Landsmeet, there was a trial that Loghain dreaded much more fervently. The Grand Cleric had insisted that a requiem chant be said for Maric and his crew, and that Cailan and Loghain attend. "The people need to be given permission to mourn," she declared. Loghain had been forced to admit to the wisdom of the statement. The country had already been mourning, but it was a fretful and uncertain grief. Conspiracy theories abounded. Before Fereldans could welcome a new king, they would need to see a public demonstration that those closest to Maric had resigned hope of his return and given him their farewell. The very idea made Loghain sick to his stomach.

He had the same twisting nausea, and a dim sense of unreality, as he walked with Elissa through the streets lined with people. All along their path were grim faces, weeping faces, confused children's faces. People reached out towards Cailan, pressing notes and flowers towards him and calling for the Maker to save the prince. The royal guard had a time to keep them at bay. Cailan's face was white, but he occasionally lifted his hand to acknowledge the well-wishers as the entourage passed. An elderly woman, bent over and frail, slipped past a guard and caught Loghain's gauntleted arm. Soldiers moved to intercede but the teyrn waved them back. He had to lean in to hear the woman speaking. "The Orlesians. They took our shop, gave it to someone else," she rasped. "Said we was disloyal. My husband had to go to the mines. Maker bless the king, he saved us. He saved all of us. The Maker bless him. Bless you. Bless you." Her words dissolved into a fit of weeping, and Loghain let her go, continuing on with his eyes trained forward.

Before they reached the Denerim cathedral, Ellie was weeping quietly as well, though once inside the candlelit sanctuary, she wiped her tears and actually spoke the chants. Loghain could only stand, watching the flames resentfully. It was all impossible and he could not make sense of any of it. They had lost countless friends in the rebellion. Rowan had seemed indomitable and yet she had succumbed to a strange illness no one could cure. Loghain knew that death should have claimed all of them many times over, but his mind still rejected the thought that Maric was dead. _Fereldans don't die at sea_, he thought, and a moment later cursed himself for being absurd. Yet it was no more absurd than the idea that Maric was never going to return.

They walked home through a similar press of people, now standing in the dim light of the few streetlamps. When the royal entourage reached the palace grounds, Elissa paused at the crossroad that led off to their residence, waiting to see if Loghain would accompany her home. He mumbled that he had some things to do, and she let him go without a word. In his palace chambers, Cauthrien helped Loghain out of his armor. She wanted to clean it then and there but he dismissed her, going around to his desk and taking up the ledgers and correspondence that had been laid out for him just that day. An hour or two passed as he sat trying to shuffle papers, the palace growing more still with night drawing on. He was just turning on the oil lamp at his desk when he heard Ellie at the door, talking with his guard. She came in a moment later, out of breath. They regarded each other silently a moment, Loghain in surprise and Elissa seeming uncertain what to say.

Finally she blurted, "I don't think you should be alone tonight." She paused, then added, "And I don't want to be, either." Her tone was strident, challenging him to contradict her.

Loghain stood and came around the desk to face her. "Would you like to sit?"

Ellie appeared surprised, obviously having expected an argument. Recovering, she asked, "Shall I have a dinner brought up for us? I'm sure you haven't eaten anything."

"As you wish."

Dinner was a vegetable soup and bread, neither of them having appetite for anything more robust. They ate in relative silence, occasionally making small talk about events in the city. When they finished, Ellie went to call the steward to clear the dishes. Loghain poured them each a glass of wine and took his to the window. The shutters were open, letting in a cool early summer breeze that smelled of the city waste and of rain. The palace sat on a high hill overlooking the city that spilled in haphazard fashion down to the river. Lanterns speckled the slope. Loghain could even see a few ship's lanterns bobbing along the river, out at the mouth of the bay, the lamp of the Hafter Point lighthouse.

Elissa came up behind him and followed his gaze towards the lighthouse. After a moment she spoke softly. "I can't shake the feeling that he knew he wasn't coming back."

Loghain grimaced. He had had the same thought, and if he was honest with himself, he had felt it even before Maric departed. "I never should have let him go."

"It's not your fault, you couldn't have known..."

"I could have and I should have." Loghain felt Ellie's hand on his back and he continued, the words forcing themselves finally to the surface. "Several times in the war I thought we had lost him, but he always came back. Always. He joked about his luck, but it came to seem more than a joke. I never believed it really, but still I half expect him to walk through that door right now and mock me for being a melancholy fool. Every time I go into his study to find something, it is almost as though I see him sitting in his chair."

"You knew him a long time. The two of you, it was like you were brothers. The way you are with him... were... it reminds me of Fergus and me."

He turned, tone vehement. "I am going to find out what happened to him. I swear it. Someday I will find out the truth."

"I believe you will. You are that sort of man." Loghain regarded her, surprised by the confidence in her voice. After a moment he reached up and touched her cheek. Ellie's eyes were red-rimmed and looked sleepy, and the skin of her cheek was hot where she had been weeping earlier. He was surprised to see how pained she was. He had barely been aware of the fact that she was grieving, too. As he stroked her cheek, Ellie caught his hand and held it there. Whispering, she said, "I miss you."

He nodded and took a breath. It was not only Maric's disappearance that was causing her grief. Loghain hadn't wanted to admit that, but deep down he knew. Celia had once said the same thing and likely for the same reasons. It had seemed so important for him to keep his distance, but he was finding it difficult to recall why. With Celia, he had kept meaning to try to put things right someday, but then never got a chance. When the message came that she had died of the sweating sickness, it had been six months since they had seen each other. It was over so quickly that her death messenger caught up to her sickness messenger on the road to Denerim.

Caressing Ellie's cheek, the thought came to Loghain that he had already begun to take her for granted, but that he could someday lose her, too, just as with Rowan, with Celia, and now with Maric. Though he was still incredulous that someone actually felt his absence, the idea that Elissa might leave him in some fashion seemed terribly chilling. Leaning down, Loghain kissed her. She tensed with surprise, but after a moment embraced him and returned the kiss.

He was still kissing her as he pulled her towards a settee, sat and lifted her astride him. Only after he had already freed himself and had started to slide the linen shift up her legs did Loghain stop, suddenly ashamed that after weeks of barely speaking to her that he was acting like a randy youth. "You don't have to do this," he whispered hoarsely. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have."

Ellie had paused as well, but after hearing him, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his once more. "Talk later," she commanded between kisses, reaching to complete the skirt lifting herself. "Do this now."

Loghain needed no more encouragement than that, heaving a sigh as she slid herself onto him. Ellie leaned forward, turning her mouth towards his ear, and they held each other while they rocked gently, letting their closeness do most of the work. She came first, sliding her hips forward against him to gain friction. Afterward it was only a few more movements until Loghain's wetness spread between them and he grew slack once more. They remained locked together, Ellie's face pressed into his neck.

"I have missed you, too, Elissa," Loghain spoke into her ear. Holding her in his arms, her warmth and weight and fragrance becoming familiar to him again, this was plain to him. He embraced her tightly, letting his own head rest, the weariness in him still evident but some of its bitterness relieved by his wife's closeness.

After a time she climbed off him and they adjusted their clothes, Ellie taking a seat next to him. She patted her lap, regarding him expectantly. Loghain smiled skeptically, but eventually he complied, stretching out on the settee and resting his head there. When she began undoing the wind braids at his temple, he understood why she wanted him prone. Apparently free access to his hair was something important, as Elissa would often undo them when they lay close. Loghain did not bother to try to understand.

He relaxed under her fingers' movement, however, and after a few moments said quietly, "I hope he's with Rowan. I hope they're together again now." It was a thought that used to bother him, that wherever Rowan was- at the Maker's side or elsewhere she may be- that she was looking for Maric and not for him. Now he hoped that that was exactly what had happened.

Ellie's fingers paused in their work. "Then they are both waiting for you now. You will see them again, I believe that."

It was not something he had ever been able to much conjure for himself, but the fact that Ellie held a certain piety touched him. "It's a good thought." Cautiously Loghain began to wonder when he might think about he and Ellie at their end, whenever that came. They often said that lovers met at the Maker's side in death. It was not a thought he was ready to let settle, however, and after another long silence, he changed the subject. "We have much to do to prepare for the Landsmeet."

"I'm glad to hear you say 'we.'"

"Ah. This is the talking part, yes?" Loghain smiled a little, then paused and sobered. "I have been trying to get through, Ellie. Just trying to make it through all this. I do know how much you have been working on my behalf. I am sorry you have been left alone a great deal."

"What I wonder is if you realize that _you_ are not alone."

He hesitated. "Yes, I see that."

"Good. Now start acting like it." She had succeeded at loosing one braid and turned to the other.

"It is difficult for me, Ellie. I have been on my own for so long, and Celia never took an interest in civil affairs. Even now I am not so sure I want to bring you into all of this."

"I am not only talking about civil affairs."

After a pause Loghain caught her hand and turned his head to look up at her. It was hard to admit his lack, and he struggled to get the words out. "I know. I should not take you for granted as I have. I will try to do better."

She stopped, smiling and obviously moved. Leaning down, she brushed her lips over his temple and said softly, "Thank you for that." They regarded each other a few moments before Loghain released her hand and turned back, submitting once again to disassembly.

"I'll just look forward to having this Landsmeet behind us," he said, turning the subject again. "If you didn't realize it before, you'll soon see that a kennel of mabari would make more progress than those self-important bloats. But it is our way. The Orlesians think us mad for it."

"It is not all your responsibility now. This is Cailan and Anora's time."

"So it is," Loghain replied. "For better or worse." They would soon find out, all of them, which the new era would bring. He and Ellie would be the first to see which way the new wind was blowing.


	10. Chapter 10

25 Justinian, 9:25 Dragon Age.

Loghain regarded the thin, reedy man standing in front of his desk with open skepticism. The man obviously had something to tell him, but was having difficulty spitting it out. "Go on," he urged.

"It's like this, teyrn. I tend your garden, see. With you being away a great deal and all, you wouldn't know that, I expect, but I do. The lily pads and fish and like in the pond as well, I..."

"Did you come here to discuss botany?"

The man laughed nervously. "No, ser. No I didn't. Well, teyrn, it's like this. You being away a lot and all. I was close to the window and I happened to see them. Your wife, see, and... and..." His voice lowered to a whisper. "And Prince Cailan. Or King Cailan as soon to be." Loghain tensed, but nodded for him to continue. Encouraged, the man straightened and continued more confidently, "He was kneeling down, he was, and the teyrna- meaning no disrespect to her ladyship, you understand- the teyrna was..."

"She was what? Something intimate?" He had thought it impossible, but the man's nervousness was starting to be contagious. "Describe exactly what they were doing."

"He was kneeling, like, or sitting, and he had 'is head..." The man tipped his head over, demonstrating. "And she was sitting, and she touched it."

Loghain waited. Surely there had to be more than Cailan resting his head on Elissa's lap for so much wasted breath. "And then?"

"And then he left."

The teyrn pressed, "That's all? That's it?"

"Why, yes." The nosy gardener began to look nervous again, and added defensively, "All that I saw anyway."

Staring, Loghain was tempted to tell the man that he had fluffed his last lilypad. He held off, however. It was a common thing for nobles to spy on their spouses and children, and he could even see some sense in it, though he had never been able to bring himself to do it. That Cailan had sought Ellie out in private, in their residence, was disturbing, but not terribly surprising. She had told him that she thought the prince still enamored of her. They had decided that she would continue to put him off as gently as possible, while letting Cailan's relationship to Anora take its course. The crown pair would be married shortly after the Landsmeet, and surely Cailan would come to his senses then.

Loghain's responded to the gardener with a stern lecture. "My wife and Prince Cailan are friends from their youth. The prince has suffered a great loss. She was comforting him as a friend, that is all. Nor will you tell it any differently to anyone else, do you understand?"

The gardener turned white. "Of course, teyrn. I wouldn't tell nobody. I wouldn't." Loghain nodded and turned back to his papers, but some moments later, noticed that the man was still standing in front of his desk. When Loghain lifted his eyes again, the gardener whispered weakly, "A few silvers, maybe?" The glare he received at this set him backing up and stumbling out of the office without another peep.

It was the Maker's sense of humor, perhaps, that the bumbling would-be spy had visited Loghain while he was looking over reports from his own spies in other parts of Ferelden. These were, with few exceptions, no more useful than his gardener's report. After Maric's disappearance, Loghain had hauled forth everyone who knew anything about every man aboard the royal ships. If there was foul play at work, then it was likely an inside operation for the king to disappear so cleanly. Meanwhile, Loghain had done everything he could do to pry for news in Orlais and the Free Marches, even Antiva, which was notorious for not respecting royalty. There were many people, both in and outside of Ferelden, who would benefit from Maric's disappearance. He was a national symbol, a galvanizer, a reminder of Fereldan independence. With his sudden removal, there would be a vacuum and that could be exploited. It had been frustrating for Loghain to recognize how ineffective his sources were. Perhaps, he thought bitterly, he ought to see if his gardener had any ideas.

Loghain reached for a stack of letters his steward had brought him that morning. On top of the pile was one with an insignia he recognized as that of House Aeducan, the ruling family of the dwarf city of Orzammar. It was addressed to the Royal Regent of Ferelden. Breaking the seal, Loghain found that it was a condolence letter from King Endrin. The dwarf king had had good relations with Maric, visiting back and forth more than once, and Loghain had also met him. Silently calculating how old the dwarf king must be by then, he realized that another visit would soon be necessary. Endrin was getting on in years and dwarf politics were more confusing and mercurial than any human kingdom. Yet the lyrium had to flow, so it was a vital concern.

Next on his stack of letters was another bearing the same seal, presumably brought by the same courier. It was addressed to Cailan. Since Ferelden's prince could seldom be bothered with writing or answering letters, the clerks often brought even his personal correspondence to Loghain. This letter was from Endrin's daughter, Princess Sereda. She wrote to introduce herself, extended condolences on the disappearance of the king, and invited Cailan to visit. It was far more direct than Endrin's rather rote missive had been, and Loghain lifted a brow as he read it. As far as he could recall, Endrin's heir had been a son. Yet it seemed that Loghain was not the only one who was thinking ahead.

At least neither of the dwarven royals had made any simpering offers of help, as he had found in a perfumed letter from Empress Celene of Orlais. Loghain much preferred the honest apathy of the dwarves to surface problems than the empress' show of friendly concern. Her note had been addressed to Cailan, too, and Loghain had shown it to the prince right before tossing it into the fire. Cailan laughed at his sourness. Much like Maric, the prince was naturally trusting and open, and was susceptible to flattery. Maric had learned the hard way to be more cautious about people, but that had been a costly and bloody lesson. Loghain was determined to see that Cailan learn it, too. The prince was as stubborn as Maric, however, perhaps moreso, and always thought he knew better.

After glancing through the rest of the letters, Loghain finally had to put them away. The Landsmeet would soon be convening. He called Cauthrien in to dress his armor.

He was mostly silent while the knight worked the pieces with expert precision. She could do it in her sleep, Loghain thought. Finally he spoke up. "You'll watch for any troublemakers in the hall, as always, yes?"

"Of course, my lord."

Loghain nodded, satisfied. His confidence in his second was complete. Her dedication to him was unsettling sometimes on a personal level, but he knew to value it. She brought the rare combination of being accomplished at what she did while not seeking ambition or glory for herself. That she was a bit hotheaded at times, he could live with. Loghain had brought her up through the ranks himself, and never had she failed to prove herself. As for the Landsmeet, it was traditional for each noble to supplement the royal guard's watch on the hall with a few of their own troops. If there were trouble in the hall, no one could claim that there had been favoritism or conspiracy. There were stories of past occasions when the royal troops had barred the doors, not allowing anyone to leave until a certain matter was settled. That couldn't happen if the chamber guards were a mixture of forces.

Loghain found Cailan and Anora waiting in the antechamber. His daughter looked perfectly calm to most eyes, but he could tell from the set of her jaw that she was nervous. They exchanged a glance, sober but affectionate, before he turned to Cailan.

"Keep your remarks brief and to the point, Cailan. Do not wander off on this and that, and try not to sound too full of yourself."

"Stop worrying, Loghain." The prince seemed jubilant in comparison to his demeanor over the previous weeks. "Everything will be fine. Since when do you know anything about giving speeches? I know what I'm about."

The teyrn regarded him skeptically but made no further comment. Eamon then came in to the antechamber and whispered a few words to Cailan before stepping over to Loghain.

"Teyrn Loghain, always a pleasure. Well, here we are. Maker preserve us, I did not think to see this day so soon." When he got no more than a curt nod out of Loghain, Eamon went on, "I saw Elissa out in the entrance. She is standing for Gwaren today, I see. A boon for your teyrnir indeed. You see that it is not always a bad thing to marry a lady so young, if she is one of quality."

Loghain looked at him with incredulity. The arl could not seriously be comparing his pudding-headed Orlesian wife to Elissa. "I am a fortunate man," he replied evenly.

Thankfully there was no more time for Eamon to go on, since the heralds were already calling the hall to order. Eamon left for the stair to the gallery and the royal delegation walked through the side door to the platform on the chamber floor. Loghain took his place as Regent in the center, Cailan and Anora stood on either side. The platform was a smaller one than the royal platform behind them, erected especially for the Landsmeet. Any other time the monarch might sit above those visiting the court, but at this body, the monarch sat low and the landholders had the high place. There was still a great din as nobles took their places, voting delegates in the galleries above where their view and hearing would be unobstructed, lesser nobles and retainers on the main floor.

Glancing up to the gallery, Loghain saw Ellie step to her place. She was dressed in fine etched leathers of chestnut brown, with a burgundy half-mantle slung over her shoulders. She looked very fine, and seemed confident when she cast him a brief smile. Afterward she nodded at someone across the hall on the other side of the gallery. Loghain followed her gaze and saw that she first acknowledged her father, then Bann Alfstanna of Waking Sea, the only other noblewoman in the hall who was also armored.

Ellie also wore a shortsword at her side. Some of the other delegates were armored and armed, as well. A Fereldan queen had once tried to enforce a no-weapons policy, fearing violence if things got out of hand in the chamber. Violence was exactly what her guards got when they tried to take away the landholders' swords. After that the right to bear arms in the Landsmeet chamber was never questioned.

When the heralds finally succeeded in quieting the hall, the Grand Cleric beseeched the Maker's blessing on the proceedings. Since Loghain had called the Landsmeet, he had the right of first speech. "My lords and ladies of Ferelden," he began, voice booming against the rafters of the vaulted ceiling. "Our country has been dealt a terrible blow. You all know that Maric and I fought together, as did many of you, to see that this country free. That tradition remains and we will let nothing diminish it, not even the loss of Maric himself. I have done everything in my power to determine what happened and will continue to do so. Yet we must move forward. We cannot delay any further the choosing and coronation of a new king. When we leave here today, the entire country and all of Thedas must know that we remain Fereldans, undaunted and free."

When Loghain stepped back, the seneschal came forward to read the inquest report on Maric's disappearance and the subsequent investigation. Loghain kept his eyes trained to the floor, listening grimly as his failure was read forth in fine bureaucratic detail. There was murmuring in the hall, but little protest, and the motion for receiving the report into official record carried without incident. It was not often that the Landsmeet agreed to something so readily, but everyone was ready to move on. Even though he knew it was necessary, knew it was time, it still left a bitter sourness in Loghain's stomach that everyone had accepted Maric's death so calmly.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of Cailan's voice. The prince wore golden armor and a purple cloak just as his father had at such occasions. Pacing slowly across the platform, he began, "I thank Loghain and all of you for convening this Landsmeet to see me take up my father's throne. No one feels his loss more deeply than I do. His is an example I will always strive to live up to." The prince turned and paced slowly in the other direction, holding up a gauntleted hand towards the gallery. "One thing my father taught me was never to take for granted the confidence of the men and women who follow us. On the contrary, he said, we must wake up each day with the intent to earn that confidence. I intend to earn yours. Soon you will also have a queen who has also served Ferelden every day of her life." With this Cailan turned and gestured towards Anora. She stood still, back straight, expression serene. Loghain felt some pride to look at her, and some wonder that she had come from him and Celia. There was no doubt that she looked like a queen. Cailan went on a few moments more, praising Anora's dedication to Ferelden and finally reminding the hall of his father's legacy which would become his own.

Expelling a breath of relief as the prince finally ended his speech and stepped back, Loghain gave him a nod of encouragement. The address was on the verge of being too long and too pompous, but only on the verge. It was well done, and he was glad also that Cailan had taken Anora's and Elissa's advice to heart and made his prospective queen part of his bid. Elissa had assured them again that morning that there would be no challenge, and Cailan was more apt to be overconfident, but the very fact that a challenge was possible had obviously stung him.

As it turned out, he had reason to be cautious. No sooner had Cailan taken his place again when a voice spoke up from the crowd on the main floor. "I call for Teyrn Cousland to take his rightful place! The throne should pass to the Couslands!" There was a great commotion as nobles all over the hall strained to see who had spoken. Soon other voices joined the chorus, shouting "Cousland! Cousland!" It took a moment for the hall to realize what was happening, but eventually others tried to shout the men down, crying out, "Cailan! Prince Cailan!" These also were not many, however. Most of the nobles seemed either flummoxed or amused. Some of them were no doubt simply relieved that the assembly was not going to turn out as boring as they had expected.

Loghain saw Cailan biting back anger. He then looked up at Ellie. She was gesturing at her father across the gallery, and appeared furious, moreso than Loghain had ever seen her. It was obvious that either she had been fed a line or the nobles had gone back on their word. He had to feel some sympathy. His young wife was getting a firsthand taste of how bitter and futile Landsmeet politics could be.

Bryce Cousland's voice rang out in the hall. "Friends! My friends! Your attention, please. Friends!" The din settled down and everyone looked expectantly at the Teyrn of Highever to see how he would respond. Bryce, clad in burnished green armor, began speaking in a reasonable, personable voice as though sitting across a dinner table from a friend rather than addressing a hall full of lords. "I am honored, most honored, and humbly grateful for this most surprising display of confidence in me. But I assure you that when I leave here today, it shall be as what I am, Lord of Highever. Eleanor and I want nothing more than to remain where my family has served the kingdom for hundreds of years. Your duty here is to support the throne of Calenhad." He was interrupted by more calls of "Cousland! Cousland!" The cries were louder after his speech than before.

There was nothing to be done but to acknowledge the calls. The seneschal stepped forward. "There has been a challenge made to Cailan's bid for the crown. Do any of the voting delegates wish to uphold this challenge?"

For a long moment there was silence, then a thin voice spoke out. "I do." It was Bann Ceorlic of Southern, a halting, grasping sort of man. His involvement surprised Loghain, but only because it showed more courage than the bann's wont. Loghain and Maric had executed Ceorlic's father, a man by the same name, for betraying and killing Maric's mother the Rebel Queen. After the war Maric returned the bann to the younger Ceorlic, saying that there was a time for vengeance and a time for peace. Apparently now was Ceorlic's time to pay the Theirins back, a son's crown for his father's head.

Cailan shook his head, muttering angrily while the seneschal called for Bryce to step down on the platform. Cousland looked no happier about the situation than the prince, but slowly he turned and disappeared to the stair, emerging a moment later at the side door. As he stepped up on the platform, he went straight to Cailan and knelt on one knee. It was obviously meant to be a statement. Rising, Bryce leaned in to say, "I am very sorry, Your Highness. This was not my doing nor that of my family."

"I know, Bryce, I know," Cailan assured him, both his amiability and some of his confidence returning at the Teyrn's gesture. "Let them have their say."

Once the challengers knew that they weren't going to be shouted down, the hall calmed a bit and the nobles began to argue in a more orderly way. The man who had originally made the call for Bryce to be crowned stepped forward, and Loghain recognized him as Bann Edmun, a minor lord and vassal of Highever. He gave an impassioned defense of Bryce's bid, citing the Teyrn's own humility as a point in his favor, and listing off a raft of rumors about Cailan's drinking, women, and general unfitness to follow in Maric's footsteps. By now Cailan was getting used to the idea that this was going to be a fight, and listened with arms crossed, looking vaguely amused. He did not need to speak up, however, since others did on his behalf.

Back and forth it went, and Loghain thought again of his likening it to a kennel of mabari. Hounds generally bayed less and with better reason, so he regretted slighting them with the comparison. There were very few who spoke in Bryce's favor, but these were a vocal few, and others were beginning to look doubtful. The sound of Ellie's voice, fiery and unwavering, brought Loghain out of his thoughts.

"My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet! I am Elissa Cousland, eldest child of the Cousland line, now Teyrna of Gwaren. My family knows that you mean well, but in choosing our next king, would you go against not only my father's will, but also that of King Maric? Prince Cailan is young, yet it was a young prince who freed Ferelden from the Orlesians. Does his son not deserve the same chance to prove himself? Now let us stop this nonsense! The heir of Calenhad should take his rightful place." She stepped back, hand on the hilt of her shortsword, expression indignant. Loghain did not envy the men who crossed Ellie when she got hold of them later.

He had barely been able to suppress a smile and keep his impartial mask while his wife was shouting. It was a risk for her to speak up on Cailan's behalf, since it would fire the rumors that she and Cailan were still lovers. Yet she was a Cousland and that would also carry weight. _Let Eamon and these other lords prattle about their empty-headed wives, _Loghain thought smugly. Though some of those women might be more pliable and predictable than his wife, they all could now see that the lot fallen to him was a lucky one.

Ellie's anger was her own, though the sentiments she expressed spoke also for Gwaren. They had received missives from the town mayor and guilds there, but there was never any doubt that Maric's son had the teyrnir's support. They would not go against the son of Maric the Savior. Cailan's recent visit to Gwaren for Loghain and Ellie's wedding didn't hurt.

Whether because of Ellie's speech or because the delegates were getting tired of the affair, there was only murmuring after she fell silent, and no more open argument. A motion was made for the vote, and when no protest arose the seneschal gestured towards Eamon to begin. First vote had been given to Redcliffe after Maric restored the Landsmeet tradition, in recognition of Arl Rendorn's leading role in the rebellion. Eamon spoke up for Cailan, and then the voting proceeded onward to the next in the gallery.

"South Reach is for Prince Cailan, " spoke Arl Bryland, a solid bull of a man who had also fought in the rebellion.

Arl Wulff was next in line. "Western Hills is for Prince Cailan."

"Gwaren stands for Prince Cailan." Elissa had leaned forward and spoke vehemently, daring anyone to contradict her.

These early votes were mostly southern provinces, a concession that had been made even before the occupation. No one questioned that Ferelden's capital should be the city of Andraste, but it was still thought that Denerim's influence favored the north. Since early votes could sway others, they were given to the south as a way to even out the bias. The final vote on the gallery was also prominent and was also given to the south, to Ceorlic's bann. By the time it got around to him, none other of the votes had been cast for Bryce. Ceorlic looked trapped, realizing that he had spoken against the man who was about to be Ferelden's new king. The wind had not blown his way, so he turned his back to it.

"Southern speaks for Prince Cailan," he croaked, causing a small eruption of anger from Edmun and the other minor lords on the main floor who had just lost their only supporter in the gallery. Loghain did not even attempt to suppress his smirk. The men who had double-crossed Elissa had just seen that the cat could spin in both directions. Though they had no chance of winning at that point, Loghain guessed that they had been hoping for a symbolic victory. The final vote came from the main floor, from the minor lords. The central bannorn were together given one vote, to be cast by a single bann on a rotating basis. The fact that their vote was last and could break a tie recognized how important this contentious region was to Fereldan's politics. Bann Alder of Hye River spoke for Cailan, and then the vote was unanimous. The hall erupted in cheering. Meanwhile there was a collective sigh of relief on the platform, from Bryce Cousland most of all.

The hall quieted again as Cailan began to speak. "Thank you, friends. I am honored to take my place as your king. My coronation will take place here in three days. I now wish to formally announce my wedding to Lady Anora Mac Tir, your future queen, to follow one month hence." Loghain thought it a good sign that Cailan said this without reservation and with a smile on this face, though having won the vote, the smile was expected. The Grand Cleric shushed the room in order to pray blessings on the new king-to-be and his bride, though by then many nobles were already on the way out to their taverns.

Elissa met Loghain on the main floor. She was craning her neck to spot the men who had spoken for Bryce, obviously looking for blood. With amusement Loghain put a calming hand on her arm. "The hangings come later. Now we go find a bottle of Antivan brandy." He was not really in a celebrating mood, not in light of what had been taken from them to see this happen, but it was an important occasion for Cailan and Anora and he would not spoil it for them.

The next day the couple slept in, both exhausted. Elissa was still sleeping when Loghain got up to leave for the palace. He had several meetings with nobles who were worried their petty concerns might not get enough attention with a new king. After he had finally shaken himself loose of them, Loghain withdrew upstairs to the royal chambers. When he opened the door to his study, Ellie and Cailan abruptly stepped back from one another. They had been standing close, Cailan's hand on Elissa's arm. Loghain paused a moment, glancing between them, before continuing to his desk.

"I was just stopping by to see if you wanted to get in a round of practice today, Loghain," Cailan explained with an obviously forced casualness.

"I'm afraid I can't today, Cailan. Perhaps tomorrow."

"Very well, I shall let you off for now. Goodbye to you both then." Loghain noticed that Cailan shot Elissa a brief but intent look before departing.

When he was gone, Ellie expelled a breath and shook her head. "Well, that was awkward. More awkward than usual. He was trying to persuade me to take over as head of his royal guard."

Flipping absently through one of his ledgers, Loghain lifted a brow at this news. After a moment he replied, "It is not a bad idea, actually."

"What? You can't be serious. It is obviously an attempt to get me closer to him. Much closer. I am beginning to wonder how you can take it so lightly that he is flirting with me right in front of you."

Loghain looked up, ignoring what might have been meant as a slight to him and speaking calmly. "Think about it, Ellie. We are going to have to keep a close eye on Cailan now. He is always shaking off his guard as it is when he wants to sneak about. If you have some involvement with them, you would be in a position to monitor him. You wouldn't have to have daily duties, I'm sure, just supervisory ones."

Elissa shook her head, approaching the desk. "It's not a good idea. In fact, it is an impossible one."

"If you are uncomfortable, then certainly..."

"I'm pregnant."

"...certainly I would not..." Loghain froze, and slowly looked up. "What? What did you just say?"

"I said I am pregnant. Pregnant. Baby. Little person who is going to split me in two in but a few short months." She stood back, arms crossed, and even through the haze of his own shock Loghain could hear the nervous edge of fear in her voice.

He leaned forward, bracing on the desk while he sank into the chair. His words came out in a choked whisper. "Maker's breath. Are you sure?"

Ellie nodded. "I'm positive. I didn't want to tell you with everything that's been going on, but I've known for a couple weeks. I had my suspicions, then the healers confirmed them." When he didn't say anything, she went on, sounding desperate. "What am I supposed to do with a baby? I can't be a mother."

Loghain blinked in surprise. Setting aside his own sense of unreality, he asked with concern, "You are unhappy?"

"I... I don't know. No. I'm worried. This baby is going to take one look at me and ask to go back to the Fade."

Despite the numbness that had overtaken him, Loghain chuckled. Recovering slightly, he offered, "You mean once he gets a look at his father. The sight of his mother will be much more impressive." _Father. Baby. _ It was not possible that these words might have anything to do with him again, not after so many years.

Elissa fidgeted. "I can't believe you didn't notice. My ankles!"

He was at a loss. Elissa's ankles appeared fine to him, and what ankles had to do with a baby, Loghain had no clear recollection. "I didn't notice anything, I'm sorry. Several weeks, you said?"

"I'm about two months along, probably, judging from my courses."

"Two months." He grew thoughtful. Two months ago, he and Ellie had barely been speaking, let alone creating offspring.

Reading his thought, Ellie smiled mischievously. "I think it was the night of the king's ball. Do you remember?"

Loghain did indeed. It had been the night he had told her about Rowan, when she had told him she was with him because she liked to be. Standing, he came around and put a hand on Ellie's waist, pulling her gently to him and studying her face. That Elissa was going to be a mother, that seemed natural. It only was bizarre that he should be the one to father her child.

Ellie still wore the little smile, but Loghain's voice was sober as he told her, "Before we even married, I told Maric that I hoped I might have a son."

"You did? So, a boy, then?"

"Are you taking requests?"

Ellie laughed. "I am not cooking you an omelet, husband." Growing serious again, she drew a deep breath. "I suppose I could teach her to tumble. And to use a sword. If I can do it, then she'll do it. That wouldn't be so bad. The wags here in the palace will just have to wag about that." She broke off the train of musing and looked up at him again, tone softening. "You really want this? You wanted a child with me?"

"It will take me time to get used to the idea. I am no kind of father, I told you that long ago. But yes, it is an honor. When I said that to Maric I did not even know how much an honor. I know it now."

Smiling, Ellie nodded, apparently reassured. "I'm glad, Loghain. I was worried that you would not be pleased. We never really discussed children. I suppose I could have been taking precautions, but I didn't. Maybe I even wanted this, too, a little." She frowned thoughtfully. "Alright. Alright. I can do this."

Loghain's voice was hoarse with emotion, most of all with affection. "My dear Elissa, I would be surprised to discover that there is anything that you cannot do."


	11. Chapter 11

"I take it the boy's father is none the wiser."

Fergus, bristling at Loghain's statement, jumped in before Ellie could reply. "I would like to point out that I'm not a _boy_."

Ignoring her brother, Ellie answered, "Father knows he's with me. That's all he needs to know." It was her idea to take Fergus out for a bit of fun in one of Denerim's middling taverns, the Hound's Tail. Her rationale was that Fergus was bound to get into trouble if left on his own, but might be satisfied with some supervised rebelliousness. In reality, she simply wanted to spend some time with him before he and her father returned to Highever later that week. Anya would not be left behind, either, and she waited to see the outcome of the negotiations, elbows propped on the back of a chair and chin resting on her hands. Cutha sat next to her, panting and likewise waiting patiently. Obviously he could not miss out on a trip to an inn so auspiciously named.

"I see." Loghain shifted on the settee, his skepticism about the plan obvious. After a moment he gestured towards Ellie's midsection. "And what about...? Should you not be looking out for yourself more carefully?"

Fergus glanced from one to the other, puzzled. "What about what?"

Ellie pursed her lips, giving her husband a warning look. She had not yet told her family about her pregnancy and did not want to start with her younger brother. "Nothing. I've been a bit nauseous on and off lately." That much was certainly true. To Loghain she added, "You could come with us, you know."

He lifted a brow. "Now that would ruin your fun, surely. Wherever I go, I am recognized. I gather that you are counting on blending in with the common element or you would be going to the Gnawed Noble or its like. Not that that place is much better when it comes down to it." After a pause, Loghain waved a hand. "Alright, do as you will. Maker knows that I don't get to forbid you anything."

Smirking at his repetition of words she had thrown at him once during an argument, Ellie gestured at her motley band. "Very well, off then. Have a good evening, my love. Don't wait up for us."

Though plainly dressed, the trio and dog could not really pass for the average commoners. Their clothing was finely made and the mabari also gave them away as wealthy. They might pass for a well-to-do merchant or trader family, however, since Ellie wore leather trousers and boots. Anya looked the part of the Cousland siblings' aunt, clad in her usual plain dress and short boots, unruly brown curls cropped short as always and covered with a headscarf. Fergus had obeyed the instruction to "dress roughly" with enthusiasm, wearing mud-spattered riding pants and a shirt with holes in it.

It was dusk as they made their way down Drakon hill, through the wealthier streets that bordered the palace district, and into the more crowded part of the city. Though it was high summer, there was still a chill in the air as the sun was going down. Ferelden was never truly a warm place, not for more than few hours here and there on summer afternoons.

Fergus was in a high mood at getting out from under Bryce's stern gaze for at least one evening. He walked beside his sister, at one point leaning in and asking, "What was that back there, 'my love'? Are you two all kissy now?" He began to make loud smooching noises and continued on in falsetto, "Oh, Loghain, _Loghain! _You're my _hero_!"

Ellie batted his arm with the back of her hand, smiling wryly. "Mind your tongue, Fergus. And your manners. Do you want Anya to think you grew up in a stable?"

"Too late," the mage muttered under her breath. She mostly kept to herself around her "betters," as she called nobles with barely veiled sarcasm, but with Ellie and Loghain felt no such compunction.

Fergus turned to look over his shoulder at the attendant. "Anya likes me, don't you? Better than old Smelly Ellie." Though he got no more reply than a dubious expression, the young man was already moving on to another subject. "Hey, you're a mage, right? Why don't you carry a staff?"

"I've got these," Anya replied, holding up her hands. "Staves are for pussies."

Jaw dropping, Fergus fell silent, unsure that he had actually heard what he just heard, and in so doing plowed into several passers-by. Finally he laughed and elbowed Ellie. "Aren't you going to tell her to mind her tongue?"

Ellie glanced over her shoulder at Anya, her expression amused. "Just don't go repeating that in front of Father. Or Mother, Maker help us."

"Maker help me, you mean. I'm not completely stupid."

At that Anya mumbled again, but they had reached the inn door so there was no more time for debate. An iron figure of a mabari hung over the door, advertising the entrance to the Hound's Tail. No one seemed bothered by the fact that mabari had no tail to speak of, or else the irony was intended.

They had arrived at suppertime and inside, trestle tables were being set up on the sawdust floor to accommodate dinner patrons. The inn was known for its stewpot above all, and its reasonable prices, so both the better and baser sorts of smallfolk would come there for a meal.

"Mind your purse," Ellie told them as they were herded by a waitress to the end of one of the common tables.

"I haven't got a 'purse,'" Fergus reminded her. "That's what I brought you for."

Almost the moment they sat down, trenchers of stew were slapped down in front of them, and common bowls of pickles and bread set out on their table. Other patrons filled in the chairs next to them, stocky men who judging by the smell were either sailors or dock workers. They gave Ellie appreciative looks, but simply said "m'lady," repeating the same greeting to Anya. Cutha took a spot under the table at his mistress' feet. At Ellie's direction the waitress put down a trencher of stew for him as well.

"Did you grow up in the Tower, Anya?" Fergus asked over dinner. The mage shot a glance from him to Ellie but did not respond. Fergus' brow furrowed. "What?"

"It's not a good subject," Ellie explained.

The mage cut in to reply, "I grew up in Lothering, boy. You ever been to Lothering?" At the shake of his head, she nodded in satisfaction. "Just as well. Armpit of Ferelden. Full of shysters and pissants, and those are the decent folk." Elissa smiled but said nothing. In more unguarded moments her attendant spoke differently about the town, remarking on the beauty of its river and countryside, but she gathered that Anya had experienced less than warm treatment from the people.

"Oh." Fergus fell silent a moment, then pressed, "But eventually you had to go to the Tower?"

"Fergus!"

Anya held up a hand. The men at the table were looking over at them, looking at her especially, but she answered in a calm voice. "What is it you want to know, boy? Did the needle-dick templars drag me kicking and screaming to their big needle-dick tower in the sky? It wasn't like that. I hid until I got tired of hiding, and then I turned myself in. Why do you think they let me back out again, these many years later? Because they know I don't want to run."

The boy looked chastened. "I see. Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

"It is what it is." Anya returned to her stew and that settled the subject.

After they were finished eating, they got up to let others in, and eventually found spots among the smaller tables nestled against the walls. Anya joined in a game of dice with some tradeswomen, Ellie and Fergus sat down at their own table to a game of doublets, and Ellie stood a round of ale for all of them.

After she and Fergus had started on their second game, a plump woman carrying a tankard of ale made to walk past their table but stopped, eyes fixed on Ellie. After a moment she leaned over to them. "I know you, m'lady. I seen you walking to the Chantry on the night they sang the Chant for poor King Maric. You're the Teyrn's wife, ain't ya? As I live! May I?" She didn't wait for permission before she squeezed in next to Fergus and plopped her mug down on the table. Fergus, pressed up against the wall, gave the woman a sideways look of distaste that was soon drawn towards the crest of bosom spilling out of her bodice.

Trying to stay polite, Ellie kept her voice low. "Please, good woman..."

"So, you're wed to the Hero of River Dane. Pardon me, m'lady, I mean no offense. It's just that me and the girls in the neighborhood was chattin' about how he took himself another wife and a young lady like yourself." Leaning in, she went on in a whisper. "He looks like a mean one, begging your pardon. He doesn't... you know..." She made a slapping motion at the air.

Ellie whitened. "Certainly not!"

"Is that so? Good, good. I'm glad to 'ear it. I didn't think so m'self, never in life. But some of the girls said it, on account of he's always got such a sour look, and 'cause those soldierly types can be rough on a woman. But I said, 'not the Hero of River Dane', not him."

"My husband is a gentleman."

"I'm glad to 'ear it, m'lady, truly," the woman replied, appearing genuinely relieved. She paused and glanced at Fergus, rubbing at her fingers nervously and seeming to weigh what to say next. Finally she leaned in, whispering, "And if you don't mind me askin', how is he... y'know..." When Ellie made no reply, the woman took it for misunderstanding and scooted forward, bosom dangerously close to spilling her ale. "How is he y'know, _in the sack_?"

Ellie did not know whether to burst out laughing or shout at the woman leave them in peace. If the prattler had been a noble, she no doubt would be asking about Cailan rather than Loghain. At least, Ellie reflected, there was some relief in that it was about the right man. After a pause she decided to indulge the woman a bit, if not on that particular subject. Despite her presumptuous questions, she had a pleasing earnestness in her pretty smile, and Ellie considered that it wouldn't hurt to hear what the common people were talking about. "Fergus, go check on Anya," she directed.

"What? No, I want to stay." The lad had apparently decided that it was not so bad being squeezed between a wall and a stack of female flesh, especially with the turn the conversation was taking.

"Go on. See that she's not cheating again over there. I don't want any trouble." Grumbling, Fergus made to go and the curious woman moved aside to let him get out, sliding back into her place and looking at Ellie expectantly. The teyrna gave her a spare smile. "So. I suppose you should tell me your name. You may call me Ellie."

The woman's name was Moira, named for Maric's mother as it turned out, like more than one girl child of her generation. She was a brickmaker's wife. It was easy enough to distract her from embarrassing questions about Loghain by asking about her own husband and children. On that subject, Moira went on expansively. In the meantime they were joined by a third woman, Moira's friend, and over a hand of Antivan Nuns the three women ran through the gossip in the city. It was a great deal about the newly crowned king and his upcoming wedding. Ellie was relieved to find that though Moira's neighborhood tongue-wagging brigade had heard that the new king had "sown his oats," they did not name names, and both her card-playing companions seemed utterly charmed by the queen-to-be. They were certain that the young king ("such a 'andsome one," Moira sighed) would settle down with her now. _Let us hope so_, thought Ellie to herself as she waited for the deal.

It was late when Moira took her leave, declaring the teyrna "as fine a lady as I've ever met, on my life." Ellie found Anya schooling Fergus in the arts of the dice. He appeared to be enjoying himself immensely either despite or because of being surrounded by women, and despite the fact that he was in hock for six silvers which Ellie was forced to pay out. They passed Moira at the bar and Ellie exchanged cheery farewells with her. After a few paces she stopped, hesitated, then turned back. Leaning in, Ellie whispered in Moira's ear, "_Like a bull_."

The woman blinked in surprise, and a moment later burst out laughing. "Good for you, m'lady," Moira called after her. "Good for you."

There were still people out on the streets despite the late hour, but after a quarter hour's walking and chattering, Ellie had to acknowledge that she did not know exactly where they were. Denerim's narrow streets, particularly in the poorer areas, tended all to look alike. She was reluctant to ask for directions to the palace district, and at any rate, Fort Drakon was always clearly visible except in the narrowest alleys, so they simply made for it. When they first smelled and then heard the river, however, Ellie began to get worried. They were closer to the alienage than she had supposed. Fewer and fewer people were passing them on the street. There was nothing to do but keep going, however.

It was not long before Ellie had the feeling that they were being followed. She was not truly afraid until she saw figures hopping along the rooftops, and afterward realized that all the other people on the street had vanished. Just as she was about to warn Anya, three men and then another dropped down onto the alleyway in front of them. There were more coming in behind. Cutha began to growl, causing the men to slow their advance but not to stop.

"Uh, Ellie..." Fergus began, finally realizing what was happening. He reached for his belt, where a dagger was sheathed, but Ellie put a hand on his arm to stay him. The last thing she wanted to see was her young brother in a fight.

"You don't want to hinder us, friends." Ellie's heart was pounding in her chest, but she forced herself to be calm as she had always been taught for battle. "We have nothing that would interest you and plenty that wouldn't. This is a full-bred mabari war hound, for one thing."

"What if what interests us is you, sweet piece?" one of the men sneered, voice echoing in the alley. It provoked ripples of laughter in front of them and behind. They were not going to be dissuaded, then, not even by the mabari's snarling and snapping. The men began to draw rusty, nocked swords and axes out of their belts.

Taking a breath, Ellie murmured, "Anya, have you got anything here?" The mage was a healer, but Ellie had seen her shoot lightning flashes at bothersome insects, and once on their journey from Gwaren, she had tried to bring down a bird for supper. The charred results convinced them that it wasn't the best hunting method, but Ellie was hoping that it might be of some use against bandits.

"Just give me a moment, m'lady."

"All I need is a distraction. The men up ahead, aim there." She was fairly certain that she needed more than a distraction, but it was a start. "Fergus, you stay out of this. Stick close to Anya."

"Give it up and come quiet and no one gets hurt," one of the men was saying to her. "We just want to borrow you for a while, empty your pockets, and by morning you'll be on your way." Another added, "Might not be able to walk so good, though." That brought on more laughter.

"Anya?" Ellie's tone was more urgent. She began to feel the air around them crackle.

"You stupid blighters should've minded your mothers," Anya grumbled. Some of the bandits saw the fire gathering in her hands and cried out "witch!", but too late. As a hail of flame knocked the fore group off their feet and ignited their clothing, Ellie turned and reached down to her boot. A moment later one of the men approaching from behind stopped in his tracks and grasped at his neck, eyes registering confusion at how a dagger had ended up sticking from it. He fell to his knees, while the man next to him was thrown to the ground by the mabari and a moment later had his neck torn clean away in Cutha's powerful jaws.

Then there were only two bandits left standing, gaping at the ruin and at the screams of their fellows running towards the river with hair and clothes ablaze. One of the two remaining men fled in terror, but the other's eyes bugged out with rage and he charged at Ellie. Instinctively she jumped out of the way of his axe, falling back against the building. The man's wild charge then carried him on towards Fergus and Anya.

"Fergus!" Ellie cried, scrambling for footing. He had been watching the burning men in horrified awe, but hearing her scream, Fergus turned in time to sidestep and slash at the man's arm with his dagger. It was an ingrained move, a product of his weapons training. The bandit cried out and dropped his axe, clutching at his wounded arm.

"You bastard!" he snarled, spittle flying. Fergus hesitated then, seeming rooted, blood dripping from his hand. The man was stottering to his feet, but by the time Ellie reached for the dagger at her belt, the mabari had freed himself. He showed no hesitation. There was a flash of black past Fergus and Cutha was atop the man, pinning him to the ground and tearing at his scalp.

"Cutha! To me!" Only when the man's terrified screams were silent did the hound release him and stand down, however. The siblings and Anya then stood in the smoking, blood-soaked alley, staring at each other. After the shock was broken, Ellie reached for her brother, hugging him. "You're alright?"

Fergus nodded, returning her embrace. Gradually his shaking subsided and when he released his sister, he turned to Anya. "Fireball? That was amazing!"

"Hmph. What did you expect?"

Despite the bravado in these words, when Ellie looked over at her attendant she saw that she was as shaken as they all were. "Thank you, Anya. You saved our lives." The mage's only reply was a mumbled "m'lady."

People began to appear at windows again, and some brought buckets of water to put out the fires. Eventually the guard made an appearance. Ellie and the others were brought to the nearest post to give a statement. The guardsmen were brusque and official up until the moment they realized they were dealing with the wife of Teyrn Loghain, after which their manner changed abruptly. After a few peremptory questions, the group received an official escort back to the palace.

All of them were subdued. Ellie made a stop at the pond to wash her mabari's maw of blood. "Thank you, old friend," she whispered, as much in awe as in gratitude. She had heard all the stories of what mabari could do. There was a reason that knights and lords coveted them. Cutha gave her his lolling smile and reached forward to lick at her cheek. Ellie smiled, though the hound's loyal affection seemed more serious a thing now than it had before that evening.

Loghain had indeed waited up for them. He had already figured out from Anya's sweaty, bedraggled appearance that something was amiss, and met Ellie at the door as she came in.

"By the Maker, Ellie, what is going on?" He grasped her arms, looking her up and down with concern.

Wearily she replied, "We're fine. Some bandits."

"I knew it. I never should have..." A moment later Ellie was crushed against Loghain's chest in an embrace, and she made no protest, slipping her arms around his back. "I know you can look out for yourself, but I could never forgive myself if something happened to you."

She held her husband silently for a time, then kissed at his neck, saying, "Don't worry, Loghain. We sorted it out."

The following afternoon, a messenger came saying that there were templars in the palace. They requested the teyrna's appearance, and directed that her ladyship should bring "the bond mage." When Ellie and Anya arrived at the palace, they found that the templars were with Cailan in his audience room.

The king stood up as they entered. "Teyrna Elissa, I'm so relieved to see you're alright. If only you had allowed some of my guard to accompany you... At any rate, these knights would like to ask you a few questions about what happened. It will be brief." Cailan's tone made it clear that this last part was a command.

The meeting was brief, but only because Cailan cut it off. Despite the templars' officious politeness, it was also unpleasant, especially for Anya. Over and over they questioned whether the attack on the men had truly been provoked. Anya kept her answers short and deferential, though Ellie could see the disdain just below the surface, and felt the humiliation that must lay just beneath that. The mage was more courteous than she had ever seen her, however. It suddenly was clear to Ellie that Anya's good-humored sneering with her and with Loghain was more a sign of trust than of disrespect. She was afraid of templars, that much was plain.

After Cailan had dismissed the templars, he caught Ellie's arm as she was leaving. Voice low and earnest, he urged, "Please, come into my study, Elissa. I need to talk to you. Please."

Ellie sighed, hesitated, then turned to gesture for Anya to wait there. The mage rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, settling in against the doorjamb to wait.

Closing the study door behind them, Cailan turned to face Ellie, his manner shy as he approached. "I'm really glad you didn't get hurt. I don't know what I would do if something happened to you."

"Thank you, Cailan." Ellie tried to step back to put some distance between them, but the king closed again and reached for her hand.

"I just wanted you to know that this wedding in a few weeks, it changes nothing."

"Your Majesty?"

He laughed and shook his head. "Maker, stop that, will you? I mean that just because I am marrying Anora, that doesn't change how I feel. About you."

"Cailan, Anora is a fine woman. I think she genuinely cares about you."

"We were friends once," he allowed. "Anora has changed, though. Even apart from that, she was never like you."

Ellie shook her head, pressing her eyes closed. The warmth in his voice felt like a condemnation. She had told him before that they had to move on, and yet he always found an excuse not to believe her. Loghain talked about how stubborn Cailan could be, but her husband really had no idea. Taking a deep breath, Ellie opened her eyes. "Cailan, you must listen to me. That time is past for us. You must no longer think of me in that way."

"You're worried about your husband." He appeared amused. "Don't worry about Loghain. I know how to handle him. Besides, I don't think he would really mind. Whatever possessed him to go through with this marriage your father got you into, it can't really..."

"You're not listening." Ellie grasped Cailan's arm and gazed up at him, willing him to see the truth. The affection in his eyes almost made her look away, and almost ruined her courage. She pressed on. "What was between us, that is in the past. I don't feel that way any longer."

Cailan hesitated, confused. "I know you said something like that before your wedding, but I thought you were just worried about propriety. About politics."

"I am worried about politics. Aren't you? Didn't you see what they did in the Landsmeet? But that is not the only reason I say this."

The king took a step back, his mouth twisting thoughtfully. One hand came up to his chest and realization slowly registered in his expression. "You're serious. You really don't feel the same for me any longer." He said it as a fact, though looked to Ellie for confirmation. At her nod, Cailan paused, then uttered a short laugh. "I've been a fool, haven't I? Maker's breath, I've been such a fool."

"Cailan..."

He lifted a hand to ward her off, though after a moment it fell. The other hand still rested on his chest. "You don't feel something for Loghain, do you?" It was as though the idea had not yet occurred to him, as though it were impossible. When Ellie didn't answer, Cailan laughed in disbelief and turned away, bracing on his desk. "Holy Maker, replaced by _Loghain_. That was not something I would ever have seen coming." He sucked in a breath, finally going on without looking at her. "You know, it drove me crazy that day of your wedding, the thought that he had rights to you. The idea of him touching you. He's my friend, but that was too much. My only consolation was that it meant you would be coming to Denerim."

"I never wanted to hurt you."

"No." Cailan's voice was bitter and resigned. "No. I did that to myself." With an obvious effort, the king turned and forced a smile. "I'm sorry, Ellie. Truly, I'm sorry. I've been an ass, and I must have put you in a very difficult position."

Despite her relief, Ellie was cut to the heart by the quiver of emotion in Cailan's voice. It occurred to her that she should be happy that he had finally acknowledged the truth, that she needn't hide it any longer, but instead she simply felt low. "You weren't an ass. You were always kind to me, Cailan, always. Anora is a lucky woman."

He gave a small, harsh laugh. "The only one the Maker is smiling on here appears to be Loghain Mac Tir. It has to be the Maker's favor, if the old man has won your affection with those scowls of his."

Ellie smiled weakly, letting the matter go. "We must make the best of it now, Cailan. I remain your friend, as always."

Cailan's smile was even less convincing. "So we must. You'll excuse me now, Elissa. I have some things..." His voice drifted off and Ellie said nothing more, turning to leave.

That evening, she was to have dinner with her father at the Cousland estate. Fergus had stayed the night at the residence after their ordeal, so Ellie returned there to retrieve him and Cutha.

As they walked, Fergus spoke up, his voice sheepish. "I wasn't much use last night, was I? I know you're supposed to press an attack when your opponent is disabled, but I froze. I'm sorry."

Ellie shook her head. "Don't be sorry. It is one thing to talk about killing a man and another to do it. You've always had a soft heart. That's not a bad thing, Fergus."

"It would have been a bad thing if you'd have died." Ellie made no reply, and after a few minutes silent walking Fergus added, "Could you do me a favor and never, ever say that again? The bit about the soft heart?"

Laughing, Ellie fluffed her brother's hair. "Are you embarrassed at being a soft touch? Don't be. Some woman is going to melt over it someday."

"I'd rather she melt over my muscles of cold, hard veridium."

"Those too."

Over dinner, Ellie decided to get the bad news over with first, relating their experience with the bandits while Bryce listened soberly. He did not berate her for leading them into danger, though Ellie had almost hoped that he would. She had been berating herself about it ever since, and it would have made her feel better to have someone else doing the job for her.

With the unpleasant part out of the way, Ellie took a breath and went on to the better news. "I have something else to tell you, Father. I wish Mother were here, but you'll have to tell her the news yourself. I'll include a letter, of course."

When she paused, Bryce prompted, "Do take your time, Elissa. We'll be back around Denerim next year, for instance."

Ellie laughed, fiddling nervously with her glass. "Well, it's just, you see... I am going to have a baby."

There was a clatter as Fergus dropped his knife in surprise. He burst out in laughter a moment later. "See! You _are_ kissyface."

"Rather more than 'kissyface', pup," Bryce put in. He then turned his gaze on Ellie with a solemn curiosity, remaining silent. The scrutiny made her squirm.

"It's good news, isn't it?" she asked impatiently.

Stirring, Bryce replied, "Certainly. Certainly, a happy thing. I am pleased for you, Elissa."

"You don't look very pleased."

The elder Cousland gestured vaguely. "No, no. I am just surprised, that is all. I had not thought this would happen, certainly not so soon."

The implication was clear to Ellie. No one, not even her own family, believed that she and Loghain had a real marriage. Reddening, the thought crossed her mind that her parents might have even expected, as others did, that she would continue to carry on with Cailan. She knew that political marriages were often cynically made, but it stung her to realize that her parents assumed no better about her. Reaching for her glass, Ellie raised it and spoke with forced cheer. "Well, shall we toast? To the newest Cousland."

"Mac Tir, you mean," Bryce corrected.

Ellie pursed her lips angrily. "Cousland _and_ Mac Tir."

"To Smelly Ellie the Second," Fergus agreed with a raise of his glass, either oblivious or unconcerned about the tension between his father and sister. It was not the first time that the two, both strong-willed, had butted heads.

Bryce raised his glass, though his manner was resigned. At last he spoke, tone careful. "When you told me of this marriage, I admit I did not think it would lead to good things. I put you in the Maker's hands, but have had my doubts about whether it was wise for me to give my consent. Perhaps I was wrong. It seems there will be a bright days ahead."

Cautiously, Ellie relaxed at this. She knew how difficult it was for her father to see her married to any man, and Loghain had especially given him and Eleanor pause. Smiling, she lifted her glass again. "Brighter days."


	12. Chapter 12

11 Haring, 9:25 Dragon Age.

A recruit to the Denerim arlingsguard, feeling testy that he had to pass muster with a woman, had once told Ellie that she 'sweat like a man.' She took it for a compliment and thanked him, right before she cut him off at the knees.

Since her belly had come to resemble a feastday goose, however, the fact that even in freezing cold weather she was sweating in places she couldn't reach seemed to be some sort of revenge on the recruit's part. Nevertheless she was determined to get some exercise, even if it was as aimless as waddling through the snow of the palace gardens. She had chased away two maids and Cailan's minister of the treasury who came out to tell her how unwise it was for a woman in her condition to be traipsing around in the snow. Finally Ellie was forced to agree with them, however, and slipped into the stables to warm up. As it happened, just then a man rode up who had a pouch slung over his shoulder emblazoned with the laurel wreath of Highever. Ellie made for him immediately.

"You're the message rider from Highever, aren't you?"

The man had just dismounted and was beginning to loose the straps of his saddlebags. If he was startled at being accosted by a heavily pregnant woman, he recovered quickly. "Yes, m'lady, just come in," he answered, then paused and looked at her more closely. "You're Lady Cousland? Ah, pardon. I mean Teyrna Elissa. I've got your letter here, mi'lady."

Ellie smiled, waiting as the man pulled out his waxed leather pouch and undid the laces. "You and your fellows are being put through paces these days, aren't you? And in such terrible weather. I am sorry. My mother thinks that by writing me every week, her grandchild will come out sooner."

The messenger gave an embarrassed grin. "It's good work, mi'lady. I've two young ones myself and they seem to need new shoes oftener than Her Ladyship writes her letters. Tristan Falley's the name, if you please."

"You'll have a few extra sovereigns to take home this time then, Tristan," Ellie replied, handing them over in exchange for her letter. "My father makes it worth your while, I trust?"

"Oh yes, mi'lady. Much better than the Amaranthine route, where I normally ride when there's not so much work from Highever. Arl Howe doesn't know two silvers is allowed to rub together, thinks they can only come one at a time. Your father's a fine man, though. As fine as they come."

Ellie laughed, thinking of her own dealings with the Arl of Amaranthine, who had been determined to see his son presiding over Highever. Her marriage to Loghain had soured more plans than just Cailan's. "You left Father and Mother well, I trust?"

"As near as I could tell, mi'lady." Pausing, he asked, "Is it true they tried to make Teyrn Cousland king?"

"Some had the notion."

The man looked thoughtful as he removed his hat and began shaking it free of snow. "It's a shame it didn't carry, mi'lady. A real shame. We'd all be better off if it had."

Ellie lifted a brow, surprised at the frank admission that the errand rider had such little confidence in Ferelden's new king. Leaning in, she replied in a low voice. "It would be better not to say so outside of Highever, good man. Nor in my father's hearing, either."

"Ah of course, mi'lady, don't pay me no mind. One wants for company on the road and here I am, talking your ear off."

Patting him on the arm, Ellie gestured towards the palace. "Go on and warm yourself. I think I smelled cinnamon cake when I passed the kitchen windows."

Ellie soon found a spot where a sunbeam cast across some feed sacks and hoisted herself up. She shifted back and forth, searching for a comfortable sitting position, until she finally she remembered that there was no such thing these days and turned to her letter. Her mother wrote so often, a little every day, that there was little for her to report. This time when Ellie opened the seal, however, a smaller slip of paper fell out that had Bryce's handwriting on it.

For a few moments Ellie simply stared at it. She had taken her father's apparent disappointment at the news of her pregnancy hard. It was a bitter thing that she had done everything she thought people wanted of her, the thing she thought was best for her family, and in so doing had seemingly lost the respect of the one man she most wanted to please. It was also baffling. There had been no further opportunity to talk with him before he and Fergus returned to Highever, however, and in all of Eleanor's many letters, this was the first time there had been something in Bryce's own hand. Fingers shaking, Ellie opened the seal.

_My dearest daughter,_

_Your mother will strangle me if I delay the messenger, so I must be brief. Know that you are in my thoughts every single day. We will come again to Denerim as soon as the weather allows it. Eleanor tells me that we may be grandparents not long after Wintersend. I am overjoyed that you are healthy and well. Mother also thinks that you sound happy. Is it true, dearest? Do not be angry with me for my surprise. Since the day I saw you take Gwaren's cloak, it has been a hard thing for me to think that you might never know what your mother and I have with each other, and that I was responsible. I did not expect that you should be with child so soon. It gave me little joy to think that you sought your husband's heir out of duty alone. Eleanor tells me that I am a blind fool to think that that is how it is. Elissa, make me a happy father and tell me that she is right. Don't worry about hurting my feelings. It will not be the first time that I'll have been a blind fool, nor the last either I'm sure.  
_

_Fergus sends the usual uncouth greetings, etc._

_Your loving father, B.C. _

There were tears in Ellie's eyes long before she had reached the last line, though she laughed as she folded it and stuffed it in her pocket. If her father had been blind, so had she. It had been foolish of her to assume that her father was thinking of anything but her happiness. Other noblemen considered it a failing of his that he had allowed her daughter to grow up so freely, so "mannishly" as one had put it. Bryce had never seen it that way, and had always considered her feelings. Regret cut her as she realized she might have been more frank with him at the time of the Landsmeet. It was difficult to explain to others what had happened between her and Loghain, however. No one expected it, and even when told they had difficulty to believe it. There was a reason why the rumors about her and Cailan were so persistent. Sometimes she did not believe it herself, and the love growing between them still felt fragile. Nevertheless her father would at least hear her mind on the subject, if it would put his fears at ease.

Loghain had had maneuvers that morning, but Ellie decided to see if he had returned so that they might eat their midday meal together in the palace. As she passed the door to Cailan's study, her footsteps slowed. She could make out the sound of shouting even through the thick wooden doors. Whatever was going on, it was nothing she wanted to be any party to, however, so after a moment Ellie hurried past. She had not gotten very far before the study door opened and slammed shut again.

"Teyrna Elissa!"

Ellie winced, but had no choice but to stop at Anora's summons. The new queen's tone was urgent and she was also obviously trying to keep her voice down. Turning, Ellie replied evenly, "Queen Anora. Good afternoon." Anora had wasted no time in closing the distance between them. With a quick glance at Elissa's spherical middle section, the queen leaned in and grasped her arm. This was so unexpected that Ellie flinched. She and the queen rarely spoke, and this sudden attention could bode nothing good as far as Ellie could see. "Anora, is everything alright?"

"Everything will be alright if you remember the terms of our agreement."

Glancing around, Ellie lowered her voice. "There were a number of those. Which terms do you mean?" Ellie noticed that a strand of hair fallen loose at Anora's temple. It fell distractingly across one blue eye and Anora brushed it back quickly. It was only one strand, but this was still disconcerting. She had never seen Anora with so much as a single hair or pore out of place.

The queen replied in a terse whisper. "You will say nothing about my involvement in your marriage negotiations. It was at your initiation, yours and your father's. That is what we agreed on."

Ellie frowned, startled at the near panic in Anora's voice. Her own tone was cool. "I remember."

"Good." Anora took a breath and straightened, casting a glance back at Cailan's study. Looking to Ellie once more, she added, "Please remember, Elissa, that I can still be a valuable friend to you here in the palace."

And a dangerous enemy, Ellie supplied on her own. She was growing impatient. "It is not in my interest for anyone to know the true circumstances of my betrothal to your father, Anora. My queen." She had kept her tone mostly civil, but this last was said with a sharper edge.

Anora regarded her searchingly. Finally she nodded, though before she could speak again, the study door opened and Cailan stepped into the hall. He appeared livid, eyes moving from Anora to Ellie and back again. Ellie wanted nothing more at that moment than to crawl in a hole, if she could find a hole that would fit her. The queen turned, said nothing more, but shot Ellie a warning glance before retreating at a fast clip. Cailan was advancing as quickly as Anora was stalking away, the two of them catching her in a vise. For a helpless moment Ellie let her head fall back and stared up at the ceiling cornices, feeling like she might faint. No such luck.

Cailan stopped in front of her and put his hands on his hips. He paced, a little smile on his face that looked more unsettling than his angry scowl had been. After an agonizing span, he finally asked, "You knew about this? You were really in on this, too?"

"What are you talking about, Your Majesty?"

He chuckled bitterly, then paused, doubt appearing in his expression. At last he put a hand on her arm and gestured towards his study. "Come inside."

"I really should..."

"Come inside. Now."

The king's tone left no room for refusal. Ellie jumped as the door slammed behind them, and began to undo her wraps, which felt suddenly cloying despite the draft that was everywhere in the palace. Her voice sounded small when she spoke. "Cailan, I don't know what this is about, but if I can help you in any way, I will."

He was silent a long while, pacing. When he finally spoke, it was in a lost, hurt tone that Ellie had heard before, the one which made her want either to hug him or slap him, depending on her mood. "I would have made you my queen. I would have done it, no matter what they all said, even Father." When she made no reply, Cailan turned. His gaze fell briefly to her rounded stomach before he lifted it and went on, his voice taking on an edge of controlled anger. "I've had reports, Elissa, that Anora was involved in setting up your marriage to Loghain. Rather, that her agents were. They are reliable reports. The sort of reports a king has access to, though not a prince too gullible to think that his betrothed and his lover might be conspiring behind his back."

Ellie's throat constricted. It had always been a risk they reckoned with, though Anora had assured her again and again that she was careful, that she was much better at this sort of thing than Cailan was, that her messengers were trustworthy and discreet. It had been easy to believe. Loghain's daughter was the sort of person who made you believe she could do anything she set out to do. Ellie now had a decision to make. It was a painful one, the sort of decision that she knew, if multiplied, would make her less of a person. At the same time, it was easy. She was a daughter of Highever so integrity would always mean something to her, but politics was a mask Ellie had learned to don when necessary. It was easy because it was what had to be done. "I don't know anything about this, Cailan," she lied coolly, evenly. "The marriage to Loghain was my father's idea and mine. I have explained to you why we did it."

"Gwaren, Highever, politics," Cailan recited dismissively. He took a step towards her and studied her face. Uncertainty warred in his expression, and he went on in a low voice. "I did wonder, why you. Of all the noblewomen Loghain could have married to give him an heir, why _you_. Of all the things you could have done to secure Highever, why marry him, a man who doesn't love you? You could have been queen, I told you that when you gave yourself to me right here in this palace. Did you not believe me?"

Ellie's mouth was dry. "I was getting older, Cailan. If I had waited and you changed your mind..." Her voice trailed off. She did not dare to look at him, but could feel the king's eyes boring into her.

His voice was soft. "Well I know it can't be that you wanted to be closer to me. You've made that very clear." Finally he turned his back on her, gazing into the fire of the parlor hearth. "My father hated politics. He hated being king, truth be told. He once said 'to play this game is to lose, at least to lose yourself.' Do you believe that?"

Nothing she said now could help her, so Ellie just shook her head and braced against a chair. Her feet ached mightily, however if she sat now, it would hinder what she most wanted to do, which was to flee. Cailan was coming back around to face her. He leaned in so close that Ellie thought he might kiss her. She caught a whiff of whiskey as his hand came up and his thumb brushed across her cheek. When she hazarded a glance at his face, she saw that the blue eyes she had once thought so mesmerizing were dancing with what looked like a feverish glee. His tone had turned resolutely confident. "It is a game I am going to win, Elissa."

As Cailan straightened and let his hand fall, Ellie could only nod numbly. "You will make a fine king, I'm sure of it," she managed.

"Ha!" His laugh betrayed some of the pain that might have escaped someone who did not know him as well as Ellie did. "A fine king, you say. A great king, I say. It's in my blood, isn't it?" Chuckling again, he veered towards a bitter mischievousness as he gestured at Ellie's middle. "You know what they're saying, don't you? They say you're carrying a royal bastard."

Ellie had remained mute, deferential, but at this she raised her eyes with a warning look. Keeping her tone as light as she could, she answered, "You'll correct them in that impression, of course."

Cailan laughed airily. "You know how gossip is, Elissa. It has a life of its own. I wouldn't worry about it. When they smack his bum, your baby is going to scream 'damn Orlesians' and then everyone will know who put him in your belly." That joke seemed to please him immensely and he turned to reach for the whiskey bottle on his table as if to celebrate.

Ellie waited a moment, then said firmly, "Cailan... Your Majesty, I am tired. I would like to return home now. I'm sorry that these false reports upset you, but I assure you that that is all they are."

Cailan waved a hand over his shoulder, dismissing her. "Goodbye, Elissa." She had a last look of him framed in winter sunlight, head bowed, before the study door closed.

Without a second thought Ellie abandoned her idea of seeing Loghain that afternoon. He would get out of her what happened and she did not how he would react. There was danger here for all of them. Whatever happened, Cailan and Loghain must remain friends, for the good of the country. She did not want to be in the position of making Loghain choose between his duty to Cailan and her. For one thing, she was not sure who would win.

Later on, when Ellie woke from a fitful nap in a foul mood, she had little recollection of how she had gotten home. There was something about stumbling on an ice patch and crashing into the snow bank on the edge of the path, and afterward lying like a turtle on its back unable to rise on her own on the icy ground. It had required two sentries to do the job and then escort her home to make sure it didn't happen again. Surely she had dreamt _that_, if not the entire sorry afternoon.

Loghain did not return home for dinner, so Ellie ate alone and afterward took a bath with Anya's help. The mage was short-tempered in most things and did not put up with Ellie's grouchiness either, but was nevertheless extraordinarily patient in such humble tasks. She seemed genuinely interested in, even happy about, the baby, reminding her mistress that it would all be worth it in the end. That improved Ellie's outlook somewhat, though she was still subdued when Loghain came into her suite that evening.

He stood in the doorway, looking in on her where she sat wrapped in blankets on the window seat, her parents' letters on her knee. "Ellie? Not feeling well? Anya said as much." Without waiting for an answer, Loghain went to the hearth and crouched down to feed it. Apparently just bathed himself, his hair was damp and loose, and he wore a wool tunic and drawstring pants as was his usual wintertime night clothing.

Ellie glanced up at him and then back at the icy windowpane. It was the coldest and darkest spot in the room and she couldn't see out the window anyway, but somehow the dismal perch suited her mood. Her voice was reflective. "Do you ever wonder if we made a mistake?"

Loghain shot a glance at her over his shoulder and did not answer for a moment. "I've made many mistakes. Which one are you talking about?"

"Our marriage."

He pushed the hearth gate back into its place and stood slowly. Turning, he came to the window and regarded her silently before easing back into the small space left at her knee. "I have thought that on occasion," he admitted, not looking at her.

It was not the answer Ellie wanted to hear, though she was not surprised. As she sat at the window that evening she had replayed her confrontation with Cailan again and again, and spent a good while second-guessing the events of the whole previous year. It seemed possible that in the end she would not have helped her family at all, only made things worse for everyone. In the weeks that she was negotiating with Anora's messengers, the thought that she and Anora were drawing Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir into their mess had troubled Ellie least of all. That was when she cared only about what he could do for her and not about the man himself. Soon a child would be introduced into the fix, as well.

Ellie's voice wavered as she spoke up again. "Do you think that way now?"

Loghain turned to look at her. In the relative dark of the window seat, she saw only his profile and a glint of blue eyes. "If it was a mistake, it's my favorite one."

A little sob wrenched up involuntarily in Ellie's throat and though she tried to fight it, her shoulders shook. Loghain reached over a hand and brushed at the tears on her cheek with a roughened thumb. "Don't cry," he hushed her. After a pause he went on. "Obviously if you are thinking about this, then you consider it a mistake. You're probably right. I'll do whatever I can for you and our child, Ellie, whatever is in the bounds of my duty. Tell me what you want."

She hesitated, not wanting to talk when it might come out as a blubber. Finally she answered softly, "Would you spend the night with me? You don't have to, you know... I mean, I don't expect..." Ellie was fairly certain that she looked as hideous as she felt, and they had not lain together in several months. Apart from her self-consciousness, the physics themselves were too daunting. At the very least, however, she did not want to wake up alone.

Loghain expelled a breath and his shoulders relaxed. "Is that all?" His smile flashed. "I think that can be arranged."

With his help, Ellie managed to extract herself from her blankets without tripping on them or on her nightdress. If she were on her own, she would then likely have flopped back on the bed like an overloaded pack oxen, inclusive of the grunts and groans, but made an effort this time to be more delicate about it. Loghain circulated the room to douse the lamps before joining her, sliding in under the covers and putting an arm over her belly. His hand rubbed across the slope where the baby was pulling her skin as taut as a bursting flour sack.

"He's going to want out of there soon, isn't he?" Loghain asked, grinning.

Ellie grimaced. "Thank the Maker. I can't take much more of this."

"You're doing beautifully." At her snort of laughter, he insisted, "I mean it. I know it is difficult. Celia never complained, but I could see it."

Pursing her lips, Ellie reflected on the fact that Loghain's first wife had not been trained as a warrior, yet apparently had had more fortitude than she did. The limitations and discomforts were not the only thing on her mind as her time drew near. Ellie was afraid of the birth, too, not only of the pain but of the fact that births were always dangerous. That was not something she would admit to her husband, however. It was not really her own life that worried her the most, but the idea that the little person she was carrying was at risk, too, and was depending on her. Placing a hand over Loghain's larger one where it rested on their baby, Ellie forced a smile. "It will be over soon, one way or another."

His expression grew serious. "I am going to help you, Ellie. I was not much help with Anora, but I shall try to do better this time. You might end up wishing I kept my nose out."

Turning her head, Ellie's smile softened and she reached over to brush the hair back from his face. "You did alright the first time, too. Anora is a brilliant woman, Loghain. Tough, smart, capable. A lot like her father."

His soft chuckle sounded unconvinced and regretful. After a pause he spoke up again, hand moving across her middle. "Would you lie with me, Ellie?"

Startled, she fumbled, "I don't know..."

"I shouldn't have asked, I suppose."

"I want to," she assured him quickly. "I just don't know... I mean..." Gesturing at her stomach, Ellie assumed that that explained everything.

Hesitating, Loghain went on in a careful tone. "If it is a matter of how it might be done, I think I can help there."

Ellie lifted a brow, curious but also hopeful. He had been married to a pregnant woman before, after all, so he was more experienced in this than she was. If he wanted to try, then she would not stand in his way, even if she ended up embarrassing herself. "Alright," she replied, still wary.

"Just be at ease, Ellie. We'll stop if you change your mind."

This instruction was easy enough to follow after he leaned in to kiss her. They took their time with this, Ellie realizing how much she had missed even this simple closeness. When his hand moved to her breast, she flinched at the tenderness, but Loghain adjusted, cupping gently rather than his usual kneading, and Ellie relaxed again. The tension returned when he began to pull at her nightdress. She would just as soon have kept everything but the necessary parts covered. Apart from how difficult it was to get clothes on and off and the chill in the room, she did not want him to see her body so misshapen. Nevertheless she reluctantly cooperated. Some minutes later, as Loghain's mouth moved gently across the strained skin of her stomach, the warmth of his lips a peaked contrast to the cold air, Ellie's head fell back and she became enormously grateful for her exposure. She closed her eyes as his hand moved between her legs, finding the right places despite the fact that everything was more crowded.

By the time he gently began to turn her, easing her to her side, Ellie was more interested than ever in how they might make the operation a success. Loghain had also removed his nightclothes and she had caressed him as well, though even in this she felt awkward. It was difficult in her frame of mind to think of herself as anyone's lover. Her husband seemed grateful enough for the attempt, however. Consoled both by his arousal and by his confidence, she let him ease in behind her. For a time Loghain resumed simply touching her, mouth applied to her neck and ear in gentle though ever more heated kisses. Both of them were eager as he pressed his hips closer, lifting her leg and sliding his own leg between hers. Ellie held her breath when she felt him about to enter her, amazed that they were actually going to be able to do it. She gasped at the familiar, singular sensation of him sliding into her, then again when he lifted her leg slightly and found even deeper seat.

Both of them were breathing heatedly, though when Loghain did nothing but make small movements with his hips, drawing an arm across her to hold her firmly against him, Ellie let her body ease back and her mind roll away. Incoherent impressions of herself and of him and the baby that neither of them had seen flitted through her mind, more as emotion than true images. It was so, so good, all of it, and though the terror of losing it was still there, for the moment that was servant and not master. It just made her want to hang on to the good all the more.

The cold in the room finally brought Ellie back to the moment, as did the arresting feeling of Loghain rocking more vigorously in her. She could tell from the tension of his occasional groan and the tremble in his arm that he was trying to master his response, and guessed that he was doing it mostly for her benefit. There was little Ellie could do to help him, but she put her arm over his and used the leverage to turn slightly, giving him freer access to her. He took the encouragement immediately, being then beyond any ability to do otherwise. After his own finish, Loghain quickly eased her back and resumed the work of his fingers. Ellie could not reach to guide him in this, and it was difficult enough just to breathe, so she simply let him find his own practiced pattern. This he did patiently, artfully, kissing at her breasts, at one point whispering that she was more beautiful than he had ever seen her. She did not believe him, but Loghain did not often engage in bed talk and when he did so, it had always seemed sincere. His eyes burned this time when he said it, so Ellie had to take it for an inexplicable reality. Encouraged by this, she lay back and permitted the sensations that wanted to roll over her to have their way. It was not long before they did, taking her in a long, slow wave.

When Loghain returned to her side, he paused to draw the blankets over both of them, fiddling to get them up to her chin, before he settled in next to her and laid an arm over her side. They looked at each other in the darkness, exchanging a smile. Ellie then decided something. Voice raspy with sleep, she asked, "When the baby comes, will you be nearby?" Already she had learned her husband's pattern of disappearing into his work when something unnerving was going on. She had determined that she would not demand otherwise of him just because they were going to have a baby, but if what had just happened in their bed was any indication, Loghain could be helpful in surprising ways. He also had a way of calming her as no one else could.

Hesitating, he finally nodded though he sounded worried. "I will try. You don't want me to assist in the actual event, do you?"

That prompted a small laugh. "No, of course not. We'll call the midwife, that elven woman in the palace. I don't care if Anora doesn't like her, the other women speak highly of her abilities. Anya says she has also attended births." Ellie closed her eyes. The events of the afternoon and the doubts it had caused were still nagging at her, but at that moment these were even less real to her than something else which troubled. Her eyes opened once more. "I'm hungry."

Loghain laughed, understanding immediately that this was a command rather than a simple declaration. With amused resignation he left the warm covers behind. "I shall be but a moment, mi'lady."


	13. Chapter 13

Wintersend, 9:26 Dragon Age.

Cailan made a show of shuffling the papers in front of him before he spoke, though Loghain knew he had likely not read them at all. The chances were good that Anora had drawn them up for him and that they would be tossed in the fire later. "Now on to our final matter and the most important." The king shoved the papers aside and stood, walking around the corner of the long council table. "I want a survey of our military readiness. It's been a long time since we had one, so it should be done straight away. The forces of each arling and teyrnir are to report and present for inspection. Loghain, I want you to carry this out. You should leave at once."

There was a heavy silence in the room. All of the ministers knew that after many years, the Hero of River Dane was expecting another child. Eyes rested on Loghain. In a few cases, the stares were accompanied by veiled smirks. In the court, rumors persisted that the baby Loghain's wife was expecting was not his but the king's. How convenient, then, to send the husband on a long journey when the royal bastard was born, and to announce this at a meeting where the queen was not present. It especially delighted those who had always been jealous of the trust Maric placed in him. Loghain respected some of these court men, even had a bond with a few of them, mostly those who also had known a soldier's life. Others, however, were always ready with daggers at his back. A potential rift between him and the king gave room for others to gain influence. Loghain remained still.

After a long pause when no one spoke, the minister of the treasury finally lifted a finger. "Your Majesty, I do believe that the teyrn's wife is heavy with child. I have seen the lady myself here in the palace. Would it not be better if someone else were charged with this task?" Tallard, at least, was apparently innocent of the rumors. He seemed genuinely concerned.

Cailan shook his head. "I need Loghain. He is the best for this sort of thing, noticing where our weaknesses lie and where we might improve. The queen and I will be making a tour of the country later on this year, but this can't wait. Besides, I'll want Loghain to stay in Denerim then and see to things here while we're gone." He met the teyrn's eyes, no trace of tension or amusement in his expression. Perhaps, Loghain reflected, the lad was learning more from Anora than just dancing. "I am sorry, old friend. Elissa can manage without you, can't she?"

Loghain watched Cailan a moment more and then finally spoke up, emphasizing each word. "The king is right, my lords. It is a vital task and I should be the one to do it." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw councillors exchanging glances. It was remarkable that the simpering ones managed to keep from laughing out loud. Good for them. Even politicians needed their small accomplishments.

Cailan appeared taken aback at Loghain's ready compliance, but soon recovered himself. "Fine. That's settled then. Now my friends, I'll let you go home to your feasts. Queen Anora and I will see you tomorrow at the royal celebration."

As Loghain got up from his chair, his eyes met Cailan's. The king watched him, wary but with a glint of triumph in his eyes. If he was expecting an argument, however, Cailan was soon disappointed. "Give Anora my regards when she returns from the Chant," Loghain merely told him as he turned to leave.

There was nothing else to do in the palace, so Loghain made his way home with evening gathering in, his boots crunching in the snow and greatcloak gathered around him. He took the walk slowly, thinking over the matter of this trip. There was no choice but to go, of course. He _wanted_ to go. Given his promise to Ellie to help with the baby, it shamed him how much he wanted it. As Anora had gradually taken over more of his day to day duties as regent, Loghain had looked forward to getting back to more of a military life. Cailan was also right that this was exactly the sort of task at which he excelled. He would always have to keep an eye on things at the palace, but it was in the ring of metal and the comraderie of soldiers, and especially in the open country, where he felt at home. Certainly it was not in the confining life of the palace. There was now, however, another place that was supposed to be home.

When he entered the residence, Loghain found Ellie reclining back on a settee, covered in blankets but for stocking feet. These she had propped up on Cutha's back as if the mabari were a furry footstool. It was a stance they assumed often. The enormous hound bore this indignity because occasionally Ellie would reach up and rub at the back of his ears with her toe, and the pair apparently found this a fair trade. On this evening, she was using this perch to observe Anya and the maid, who were hanging crystalline stones strung on ribbons in all the windows.

Ellie sat up and grinned. "Loghain! Watch this. Show him, Anya."

The mage cast a worried glance at the teyrn, but turned back and appeared to concentrate. A moment later the crystals lit up with a soft glow, blues and greens and yellows, the colors of springtime. Ellie clapped and turned back to her husband, who glanced at the decoration as he removed his outer clothing. "Impressive," he muttered, not very impressed in truth. He remained suspicious of magic and of the mage in his house, though even if he weren't, that a witch's talents should be used for such a frivolous purpose was of no matter to him. If it made Ellie happy, as it obviously did, there was probably no harm in it.

Ellie was nonplussed at his skepticism. She seemed in high mood, and all in all her mood had improved over recent weeks even as her physical discomfort reached its peak. Loghain could tell that she was nervous about the birth, as he also was, but the very fact of its approach appeared to settle her mind and allow her to return to her usual brightness. For her part, Anya never even looked at Loghain, and she and the maid absented themselves with talk of decorating other parts of the house. The stones remained lit, casting soft shadows on the snow massed against the windowpanes.

"Come sit," Ellie bid him, and he did so. "The cook is making goose with plums, smell it? I reminded her to go light on the cloves, the lord of the house having such a delicate palate as he does."

Loghain replied with a grunt. The fact that Ellie was in such a cheerful mood was going to make it harder to spoil it. At such times he usually went for bluntness, and so he did again. "I'll be going away soon," he announced quietly. "Cailan wishes me to do a survey of Ferelden's troop readiness and I think it a good idea. Maric and I kept track as best we could but there is no substitute for seeing such things with one's own eyes."

The room was silent but for Cutha's snuffling. Finally Ellie repeated, "You're going away. Soon? How soon is soon?"

"Cailan wants me to leave right away." Out of the corner of his eye, Loghain saw that Ellie's face had drained of its high color and that she was fighting with her response.

Bitterness laced her voice. "_Cailan_ wishes you to go, and so you'll go. Do you not see what he is doing?"

"Of course I do. I had thought him over his childish pouting, but it appears he's still got it in his system. What choice do I have, Ellie? Do you think you are the only one who is bound by the whims of our boy king? At any rate, he is right that it needs to be done. We need eyes out there, not only on the military situation but on the political one. Or have you forgotten how much fun you had at the Landsmeet, and I in trying to get answers about Maric?"

Ellie looked unhappy but capitulated. "Alright. Alright. I know that it's your duty. You always warned me that it would interfere. I just didn't think..." She had begun to rub the bulge at her middle as though hugging the child inside it.

Loghain stole a look at her. She was always her best in the firelight of evening, the warm light catching her red hair just so. He thought it surely a trick the Maker had played on him to make his young wife that much more bewitching. Pregnancy had not diminished her appeal, and in fact he found the fullness around her chin and in her breasts to be an arresting change. Reaching a hand over to touch her stomach, he said, "I'm not going to leave before the baby is born, of course."

Ellie turned her head. "You're not? I thought you said you had to go?"

Loghain chuckled drily. "I do, but I made you a promise. Do you think I would let Cailan's petty jealousies cause me to miss the birth of my son? If there were any real urgency, that would be a different matter. As it is, papers will get lost, the men I need won't be available for another week, and then another week if necessary. Military life is like that."

Her smile returned cautiously, and some tension went out of Ellie's limbs. "There is more than one way to skin a nug, as the dwarven traders say?"

"Even so."

Ellie laughed, then stopped, considering. "Mother will be coming to stay with me for the first months anyway, so I'll not lack for help or company. I suppose it will be alright." She turned to him. "You're very confident this is a boy, aren't you?"

"I just have a feeling."

"And if it is a girl?"

Loghain shot her a mischievous glance. "Will she be as beautiful as you? If so, we'll need stronger gates. Much stronger. And a few dozen more guards."

* * *

He did not need to put Cailan off very long. A week after Wintersend, an elven messenger found the teyrn at the Denerim city guardhouse and informed him that Teyrna Elissa was calling for the midwife. The city guardsmen who overheard erupted into cheers, and called well wishes as he left. Outwardly Loghain was as calm and grim looking as ever, but as he walked at a fast clip towards the palace, his heart was pounding with anticipation and fear. It was almost too momentous to believe that after so many years another child would enter his life, and yet all he could think about was what Ellie had before her. _Andraste let it go easily on her_, he thought silently, the prayer as urgent as any he had uttered. It did not seem fair that all the pain and effort rested on his wife. He felt responsible and yet utterly helpless.

That was how he was still feeling as the afternoon wore on. Ellie's suite had been turned into a hive of female activity, maids going back and forth in response to the directives of the elven midwife, a wiry young woman with copper hair who looked too small to be of any use as in her trade until she rolled up her sleeves to reveal strong, sinewy arms. Loghain sat and paced in the outer parlor, straining to listen for clues as to what was going on. He had visited briefly with Ellie before being shooed out of the bedchamber like the third teat he was. If only Maric were here, he thought ruefully. It would have been good to have Maric waiting with him. He would have gladly borne every one of his friend's smirking "I told you so" glances.

After an hour or two, Anora put in an appearance. She looked in on the birth room, then came back, apparently sensing that it was no more her place than his. Pouring them both a glass of wine, she took a seat. "Honestly, Father, I never thought to see this. That I should have a sibling after all these years."

"Yes, Anora. What did you think would happen when I wed again? That I should marry the lady but live like a Chantry brother?" His daughter was trying to be supportive, Loghain knew, but the situation had him testy and he did not care for her scolding tone. Gesturing with his glass, he went on, "You should be more worried that you and Cailan manage the same."

Anora's face blanched and she made no reply. After another half hour, when no progress seemed to have been made, she excused herself to return to the palace.

Other than the murmur of the attendants' voices, it was disturbingly quiet. Loghain had expected Ellie to be talking, if not crying out. Finally not able to take any more waiting, he caught a maid's arm and asked for Anya. When the mage came to the door, he tried to lean around her to see. "Is she alright?"

"She's working," Anya replied, scowling impatiently. After a pause, her expression softened. "It's just taking a while, mi'lord. Big father, big baby."

Loghain forced a smile. "So it's my fault then."

"You said it."

As the mage turned back, Loghain caught a glimpse of Ellie seated propped up against pillows, women holding her arms as a contraction caught her. After that things seemed to happen quickly. He remained in the doorway and no one paid him any mind, the murmurings of the attendants becoming more excited and urgent. Only then did Ellie utter a quiet, drawn-out groan of pain, and a few minutes later another. Loghain turned away, pacing in the parlor as he heard Ellie groan once more and then go quiet. It seemed like this might go on a while yet, so it was a surprise when a maid stepped to the door and grinned at him. "A boy, your lordship! You have a son. A big, healthy lad, too."

He would only believe it when he saw it. All but bodily pushing the woman aside, Loghain entered the bedchamber and looked around. Anya and another maid were at the side table, and he caught a glimpse of pink limbs spread out on the coverlet. His eyes rested there, still disbelieving, before turning towards Ellie. She was lying back, sweaty and pale, with the midwife still at the foot of the bed.

The elven woman looked up. "You should wait a while yet, mi'lord. Her ladyship still has some work to do."

Ignoring her, Loghain went to the bedside and took Ellie's hand. She smiled up at him wearily, voice languid. "You were right, Loghain. It's a boy. How did you know?"

He squeezed her hand. "You're alright?"

"Maker's mercy, that hurt," she answered, smiling. "Yes, I'm fine-" Her voice cut off as another contraction came. The midwife began to urge her again, and after a few minutes the elven woman nodded, seemingly satisfied that the afterbirth process was finished. Maids pushed Loghain back and began exchanging soiled bedclothes for clean ones. Ellie winced but did not complain as they rolled her this way and that for this operation. Her eyes caught Loghain's, then they both looked over sharply when the baby made a fretful cry.

Anya turned towards them, the squirming bundle braced gently on her arm. "We've not swaddled him yet, mi'lady," she explained, placing the bundle carefully on Ellie's stomach. "That's so you can count the wigglers. We've done already and there's ten and ten, but you'll want to do it yourself too, I'm certain."

Ellie was staring at the baby as though she wasn't sure what it was. Loghain returned to the bedside, kneeling, and they both got a first look at their son. There was a thick shock of black hair and a mottled face, and chubby limbs that were fighting underneath the light blanket. Ellie reached out for him, drawing him closer and settling him on her arm, then exchanging an awestruck look with Loghain. They were both still staring when he heard an attendant whispering, "Oh Maker, no. No."

Loghain looked up and followed the attendant's gaze. The maid had thrown the blanket aside, revealing that the newly changed bedclothes were rapidly turning a bright red underneath Ellie's thighs. The midwife, who had been cleaning herself in the washroom, came out and with one glance at the bed instigated another rush of activity.

"What is happening? No, don't do that," Ellie protested as one of the women took the baby from her arms.

"You're bleeding out, mi'lady," the midwife told her. "We have to stop it."

Loghain let himself be pushed out of the way again, and he stood back, staring at the bright red bloom on the bed as though mesmerized. In battle he had seen men and women ripped open, in all stages of horrific deaths. This sight reminded him not of those, but of the day he had foolishly let himself be provoked by Rowan into a duel. On that day, too, he had been transfixed by the sight of a line of bright red blood on her cheek, put there by the hilt of his own sword. This was no small ooze, however. When the women lifted Ellie's legs to get pillows underneath, the bed was already soaked through. Another memory flashed just beneath his awareness, the sight of his mother laid out. One of the Orlesian soldiers had run his father's sword into her private parts when they were done with her and she had bled like this. It was a memory Loghain always had with him, sunk deep beneath layers of civilized rage, never conscious but there all the same. Now it was right in front of him again.

Ellie moaned with pain as the women bent her knees back. This sound moved Loghain from his spot. "Do something!" he bellowed, pushing back to the bedside. "Anya, what are you just standing there for? You're a mage, aren't you? Heal her!"

The mage was herself pale and sweaty from her day's labors. She shot Loghain an angry glance. "I will, and I don't need you to tell me what I'm about."

"Then do it!" His tone was one of command, the general on the battlefield. The argument was cut short by Ellie speaking up weakly, trying to get his attention.

"Loghain. The baby..."

He turned to her, clasping her hand. What color had remained in Ellie's face was draining away. "The baby is alright, Ellie," he assured her. "Don't worry. Anya is going to help you."

Ellie nodded and closed her eyes, but continued to whisper. "The baby's name. We should name him."

Loghain looked at her, comprehending her urgency. She had seen the blood, felt her strength ebbing, and thought that there might not be another chance. "We can talk about it later, but I thought you would want to call him Bryce." He cast a frantic glance towards the women surrounding the end of the bed. Anya was poised over Ellie, her hand spread out, eyes closed as though in prayer.

Shaking her head, Ellie murmured, "No. His name is Gareth."

"Gareth," Loghain repeated numbly. His own father's name. "You're sure?" When she did not reply, he waited, then shook her hand. Nothing. "Ellie, talk to me. We'll name him Gareth, if that's what you want. No, don't fall asleep. Stay here with me. Ellie, wake up." She didn't respond and the hand in his was limp, her lips a sickening blue. Loghain's sight went black as he gripped her hand hard, firming his grasp all the more as hers slackened. No, this could not be happening. It couldn't be. Rowan, Maric, Celia, Rowan, Celia, his mother... not Ellie. Not Ellie. The baby was crying somewhere. Not Ellie, the Maker could not be so cruel.

After what seemed an interminable length of time, a voice cut through the desperation that gripped him. Dimly he recognized the voice as Anya's, and felt the mage's hand on his shoulder. "She's alright, mi'lord. She's there. Look at her. Mi'lord, look at her."

Loghain was afraid to do so, desperately afraid, but when the mage repeated her gentle command, he finally looked down and let his wife's face come back into focus. Ellie's eyes were still closed, but there was color in her cheeks and lips again. Just then the baby's fretful murmurs became an ear-splitting cry, and her lashes flickered.

"Oh," one of the maids laughed. "That'd be hunger. Best fetch the wetnurse."

"Give him to me." Ellie's voice was barely above a whisper, but when the midwife hesitated she said it again. "Give him to me. I'll see to him."

"Mi'lady, you really shouldn't..."

This time Loghain spoke up in brusque command. "Do it." That settled any further argument. He and Ellie looked at each other, smiling cautiously. There were streaks of tears on the teyrn's cheeks that he didn't even remember falling. Moments later they sat together on the bed, Ellie propped back Loghain's arm while their son nursed energetically, apparently set to suck his mother dry. She grimaced occasionally, and was obviously using her last bit of strength just to hold him, but her expression was as awestruck as her husband's.

Once, Loghain tore his eyes away from his family and noticed the mage standing nearby, wiping at her forehead with a cloth. Anya met his gaze and held it a moment, then nodded once before turning away.

Gareth Mac Tir was blessed at the Chantry six days later and his birth recorded in the rolls: _Boy child, born 6 Guardian of the 26th year of the Dragon Age. Only son of Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir of Gwaren and of Teyrna Elissa Mac Tir nee Cousland. Witness, Anora Regina.  
_

A week later, the baby made another outing, this time to the palace courtyard where the survey expedition was making ready to leave. Ellie stood watching while Loghain finished his preparations and gave orders. Loghain and a few of the other officers had horses standing ready, but most of the men would be on foot. It was a small company, about twenty men, most of them Gwaren men with a few palace guard mixed in. A few other families had also come to see the company off, and servants scurried back and forth bringing provisions. Ellie's hair was loose on her back and she wore a dark blue cloak and boots. The snows were melting, but in Ferelden winter always persisted past its welcome and the air was chill. The baby in her arms was swaddled thickly, the only thing visible of him a pink face and the dark hair that was so thick that the midwife had laughed and remarked that he must be half bear.

When all was ready, Loghain approached Ellie, gloves held in one hand and a black cloak slung over his armor. He said nothing for a long moment, impressing on his mind the sight of her and of his son as though he might forget what they looked like. In truth he was mostly trying to convince himself that they were really there at all, that they really were his own. He leaned over and kissed Ellie lightly, then looked down and let his fingertips brush over the impossibly soft fuzz on Gareth's head. The sleeping baby stirred and made a small sound of protest, prompting his father to laugh fondly.

Ellie looked up at her husband, smiling. She paused thoughtfully for a moment before she spoke. "You know, Cailan is smart about one thing, love."

"Enlighten me."

"He relies on you. He knows that you will protect all of us."

Loghain smiled grimly. "He's not really interested in all of you, you know that. Nor in Ferelden."

"Somewhere deep down he is." She shifted the baby to one arm and reached her free hand up to touch his cheek, caressing it. "You'll be careful, Loghain. Promise me you'll be careful."

He nodded, expression and voice solemn as he caught her hand and brought it to his lips. "Don't worry, Elissa. I swear it. I will be home soon. Home to you both."


	14. Chapter 14

18 Drakonis, 9:26 Dragon Age.

His men were hiding something, though doing so badly. Loghain knew when to turn a blind eye and when not. He charged into their middle. "What is it?"

They were standing on the small green of a village in the northeastern Bannorn. The tiny courtyard was so muddy that it really ought to have been called a "brown" rather than a green, and most of the townspeople had retreated indoors to get out of the mixture of rain and snow that was falling. At his commander's question, a sergeant from Gwaren reluctantly produced what he had been hiding behind his back. It was a crumpled piece of paper. Loghain took it, shook it smooth, and read it with no change in expression while the men suddenly found better things to do.

_The Maker will judge this land for this transgression against the divine order. Not even Andraste presumed to rule the country when elevated from her low station, but went meekly to the Maker's side where she makes intercession for us all. She is the icon of true womanhood, not this harlot from Gwaren who does not know her place. Mark my words, brothers and sisters. There will be judgment. If those who mean to rule us do not respect the natural order, a plague will rise up from the very land to curse you and your children!_

It was not the first of these broadsheets they had found, hung on posts and on trees outside inns along the side roads, the more frequently as they got deeper into the Bannorn. All of them had obviously come from the same press, an older-looking script printed with crude metallic block. Loghain was about to crumple the sheet and toss it into the mud, but on a second thought he folded it and shoved it into his cloak pocket. There were few printing presses in Ferelden, most of them Chantry-operated. Someone with more experience in these things might be able to tell where the tract had come from.

Loghain looked around at the sodden village. Though he and his men were the only ones on the green, he could feel eyes on them. An oilcloth window flap moved, confirming this intuition. The Bannorn were as welcoming as a bear woken from hibernation, but there were good memories for him here, too. During the rebellion, he and Rowan had been sent out to criss-cross these remote territories alone, trying to winkle support for the rebellion out of the stubborn minor lords. It was dangerous, frustrating work. He had potent memories of nights spent watching Rowan with firelight on her face, standing sentry over her as she slept, of watching her talk to smallfolk and banns alike, showing herself to be the queen she really was. As his admiration for her had grown, so had the recognition that that very quality meant she could never be his. These were still some of his best memories of the war.

Nevertheless, he certainly had no desire to linger. In this part of Ferelden, there were few knights but every peasant was a warrior, so counting forces was next to impossible. He would have to rely on the reports of the neighboring arls. His goal here had been less to survey the military situation than to get a sense of the political one. The Landsmeet had been tumultuous, there had been a great deal of uneasiness after Maric's death, and Loghain would not sit easy while Anora's throne was not secure. What he saw thus far had been mixed. Dragon's Peak had been welcoming as always, but in the Bannorn the picture was much less clear.

"Let's move out," he called to the men loitering huddled against the fat, cold rain.

The road passed through field after field, some of them already being prepared for tilling by farming families who were seemingly oblivious of the rain and mud. Some of these were the broad fields of major landowners, and near villages there were strip farms marked out by stone boundaries, likely the small plots of leaseholders. In these, they saw men, women and children picking rocks out of the tilled land and using them to fortify the strip markers. The children most often dropped what they were doing and ran to look at the passing soldiers. It was a welcome sight. He had had a much different reaction when Orlesian soldiers passed by while he helped or played in his father's fields.

Towards afternoon the temperature dropped and the sky filled with broad, clumping snowflakes. Loghain's party got some shelter as the road turned into a forest. A few of the men lit torches for extra light. At one point along the road, they passed stone posts on either side, crudely carved with the faces of Alamarri warlords. These seemed to be grinning at them in the flickering light of the torches. The stones were no doubt a boundary marker. Boundaries were taken very seriously in the Bannorn, and wars could begin over inches this way or that. The lords were no doubt grinning at the prospect of a good fight.

By the time the party emerged onto a snowy meadow, the sun was low in the sky and set a dull golden light on the crown of a low tower straight ahead of them. It was set on a small hill, prodding up through more trees. Loghain had been here before. This was the Stedburg, the remnants of an ancient stronghold and currently the seat of Bann Cormac ap Feil. Most of the old keep had long since tumbled into ruin, its dark stone still visible only on the tower and in the odd section where the ancient blocks had been salvaged. Outbuildings of both stone and wood had grown up around.

Loghain did not expect a warm welcome at the keep, and in this he was not disappointed. They were made to wait an hour and a half in the courtyard. Finally he and his lieutenants were disarmed and bid to enter the main hall. The hall was in the newer portion, oak raftered and hung with faded tapestries. Skeptical eyes watched their approach from the trestle tables were set out in a U pattern on the rush-covered floor. The bann's family and retainers looked to still be hastily finishing their evening meal. Loghain supposed that they had been delayed outside so that the household did not have to share its table with outsiders.

Ap Feil was working on a swan leg and didn't look up from his plate for some time. He was dressed plainly, more like a gentleman farmer than a noble lord. Next to him sat his wife, a handsome woman with blonde hair bound in a thick braid. Loghain waited, wise to such games and not about to fall into the trap of demanding attention. Finally the bann dropped the bone, took up his grease-smeared wine cup and put back a long draught before wiping his mouth and finally lifting his eyes to the dripping-wet men standing before him.

"Loghain Mac Tir. What do you want? I've paid my taxes, and if you've come to announce an increase, I'll advise you to leave the way you came, and do so like the floor is on fire."

"That was last week, when the arl came to visit," one of the men at the table piped up, causing the room to echo with laughter.

"So it was," the bann went on merrily. "But we've set out dry rushes just for you, Hero of River Dane, and can arrange another flame dance. Now speak your business."

Loghain let them have their mocking chatter, and noticed that the bann avoided his gaze. Coolly he replied, "I was hoping to see Arl Percy myself. I heard he was headed this way. Obviously I missed him."

"Moved on north. Hobnobbing with Cousland, no doubt, and likely you'll still find him there. Arse-licking takes so very much time, you see. Which is why you won't get any from me. Bread and salt I must give you, but that is all. You and your men can sleep in my stables, if you can find the room. And don't trouble my horses, either."

"Your hospitality is as warm as your father's was," Loghain observed.

"Yes, yes, I know it was you who got my father wrapped up in that business with the Orlesians. Got him killed, too, and my mother not long after."

If the bann hoped for sympathy, he was barking at the wrong tree. "If he and his men had joined us when we called, we'd have won all the sooner and the outcome might have been different. Instead he turned me away, then came with his tail between his legs after his neighbors all joined the rebels."

Ap Feil was unruffled. "We're not cowards, Mac Tir. We just want to be left alone, and out here you greedy cocksuckers from Denerim are no different than the painted lords were. Those who paid tribute kept their lands, kept their independence. It was the troublemakers who got the heel of the boot. Troublemakers like your father. So yes, what is it to us who sits in Denerim? Theirin sounds pretty Orlesian to me."

"So does Cousland." Loghain was testing him. Cormac had been one of those who spoke up with Bann Edmun at the Landsmeet in favor of making Bryce king. It made sense geographically, as they were not far from the inner coastlands where Cousland was liege, but not according to the bann's own philosophy. Bryce Cousland would have been a harder king than Cailan was likely to make.

The bann shrugged. "That it does. We did you a favor, Mac Tir. That green boy on the throne now knows he can't just strut and make a pretty speech and expect everyone to kiss his feet. You're here now, so that was a lesson learned. For that matter, the green girl in your bed got the same lesson and will be better off. You should be thanking me."

His blood boiled at that, but Loghain worked not to show it. Ellie still grumbled about the broken promise the banns made her after seeking her support to make Bryce king. Cormac was right that she had learned a hard lesson in it, namely that the Bannorn would always go their own way and that their promises meant less than nothing.

Removing the tract from his cloak pocket, Loghain held it out. "Do you know anything about this?"

Ap Feil glanced at the sheet. It was apparent that he recognized it even at a distance. "Don't know anything about those. I don't have any quarrel with your daughter. Damn fools think they need say-so from a noble just to wipe their arses. Piss on that! If she can make her way, Queen Anora will have as much support from us as anyone on the throne would." He said this with a grin, and there was muted laughter in the hall. The joke was that no monarch would have unqualified support from them.

Loghain put the tract away again and regarded Cormac silently a few moments more. The man would not meet his eyes, but he had noticed that all while they were talking, the bann's wife had watched him steadily. Briefly Loghain turned his own gaze to meet hers, his expression as stony as ever. Nothing would be gained by remaining. "We would be grateful for a meal and then we'll be on our way."

Before the bann could speak, his wife stood. "You will have it, you and all your men." She waved a hand at the servers standing against the walls, setting them into motion clearing away the leavings. "You will excuse me and my ladies, Teyrn Loghain. We will retire now, so that there is room at table for your men. My husband and sons will stay and act as proper hosts." Her husband grunted at this but did not interfere.

"Thank you, my lady."

There was little banter at supper, both because his men were as tired and hungry and because the tension remained in the room after the bann's wife departed. Bann Cormac sat slurping loudly from his cup, proving he could stare well enough as long as Loghain did not meet his gaze. Loghain was reluctant to spend the night even under the bann's stable roof, but for his men's sake he allowed it. They would have plenty of sleeping on the muddy ground before they were done. He and his lieutenants waited until the men were finished and had filed out before they themselves retreated. As he was walking through the foyer, a hand reached out from a side alcove and caught Loghain's arm. It was a woman's hand, and he thought he recognized it. Gesturing with his head, he bid the other officers to wait for him at the door, and stepped into the alcove.

The bann's wife stood under a window in a pool of weak moonlight. Her hand remained on his arm. "My husband is unwise," she said, voice low.

"I know."

"I am Regan."

Loghain regarded her curiously, and she studied him, as well. When she didn't speak, he prompted, "My lady, is there something I can do for you?"

"I was in Denerim for the Landsmeet," she replied finally. "I saw your wife at the coronation." Loghain nodded, and the woman continued, "I know Lady Cousland a bit, have known her since she was a little maid. I never saw her touch you once, but she stands close to you. When you move away, her eyes follow you. She is proud to be at your side. Do you know that?"

This was a surprise, and his throat caught. "I... I suppose..."

Regan ap Feil didn't wait for him to form a reply. "I believe you are a good man, a man who can be trusted. You should know that some of the bannorn would like to see a new alliance with the Orlesians. They are petitioning Cousland to broker it. He is listening to them."

Loghain's jaw worked silently. Finally he answered in growling tone, "That is nonsense. Why would they do such a thing?"

"You don't believe it. In your world, such a thing is not even possible, is it? Things look different out here, your grace, if you have not yet noticed. Were you not listening to my husband? He was telling you without telling you. To them, it matters not who thinks himself a great lord or a king. As long as they have markets for their grain, as long as they're left alone, that is all they care about."

"Then why look to Orlais of all places?" The idea was ludicrous, yet even the possibility set off the outrage in Loghain's voice. "I take it they do not remember the Orlesian idea of 'leaving Fereldans alone'?"

She motioned for him to keep his voice down, then turned so that she was mostly covered in darkness, speaking over her shoulder. "They see Orlais' return as inevitable. Teyrn Loghain, you may not realize how fragile is your legacy. Many here did not expect Maric to last. Now that he has passed, they expect little good from his son. If the Orlesians are to work with Ferelden, even sit astride her once again, then they want to be at the front of the line. If it doesn't work out that way, they lose nothing. Our new king is weak and is hardly going to come marching in here to beat them down for trying. Some think he might even join them."

It made an atrocious kind of sense. The Bannorn already had a trade pipeline with the Orlesians, and much of it already went through Highever. If there was one thing they did bow to, it was the sovereign. Maric had always had to work to keep them from exporting too much food. Loghain thought the Orlesians paid top price for Fereldan grain simply out of spite, since they had enough of their own in most years. Leeching off Ferelden's supply drove up the price domestically and made it difficult for the crown to establish a reserve for lean years. They had been forced to institute a duty tax, something both Bryce and Eamon had both opposed since it cut into their revenues as well.

His fists clenched. "Why are you telling me this? Is this not disloyal to your husband?"

The lady stepped back into the light, gazing up at him with those peculiar grey eyes, wide-set and angled at the corners. They reminded him of elven eyes. Her voice was solemn. "My husband remembers the Orlesians one way, and I remember them another. Have you ever seen a mother animal protecting her den, my lord? Have you ever seen a woman when all defenses have fallen and she is the last thing standing between her children and the enemy? If she has only her own nails and teeth to use as weapons, her hands will grapple even with swords, and her mouth will run with blood. You know, do you not?"

Loghain felt coldness creep up his back. The woman perhaps had heard of his mother, but what came to his mind was not her. He thought of Ellie and his son. Setting his chin, he replied, "A mother need only do that if the defenses fail, my lady. I swear to you that they will not."

Regan had turned her head aside slightly, watching him. She gave him a spare smile and they regarded each other some moments. Loghain realized that it was not really the elves the lady reminded him of, but of the Avvar mountain folk he had encountered when the rebel army was hiding in the Frostbacks. They had the same distant, enigmatic air as she, the kind that made you never sure if they were about to attack you or clasp your arm. Finally she spoke again. "You need not sleep in the stables. I will open a guest room for you. Just you."

It was Loghain's turn to tilt his head. He recalled a story he had heard of the women of the mountain people, that they did not keep to only one husband, but stayed a few years with one and then moved on to another man if they liked. She stood close, closer than necessary. Though he was not the most adept in such things, he knew that if he accepted the offer of a guest room, that she would visit it during the night. It was not an unusual circumstance for a man in his position, though Maric had encountered it more often, and neither of them ever got used to it. The bann's wife was also a very different sort than those court hangers-on. His body stirred at the thought of a few moments welcome, of relief, of something other than the unrelenting practicality and responsibility of the daytime. Yet Loghain also knew it was not really ap Feil's wife that he wanted.

He took a step back. "The stables will suffice. Good night, my lady. Thank you for the information." She did not reply, but he could still feel her eyes on him as he turned to depart.

Sleep did not come quickly, though it was not due to being put in a stable. All in all, stable bedding was not the worst. The animals provided warmth, straw was soft, and the gentle sounds created a pleasant lull. Loghain had much on his mind, however, so it was well into the night before he drifted off. As he lay awake, he decided that in the morning they would abandon plans to ride deeper into the Bannorn and turn north instead. Time to pay a visit to his father-in-law.

20 Drakonis, 9:26 Dragon Age.

Highever Castle was even older than the Stedburg, but in much better repair despite its vastness. Some suggested that magic had been used to make its turrets stand so long and with such seeming impregnability. The witch Flemeth had once been its lady, the wife of Lord Conobar Elstan, though if the witch had made any magical improvements to the holding, it must have been before she slaughtered her husband and every member of the family, making room for the Couslands to take over the title. The castle sat on a slight hill overlooking the town and the alienage which was marked out even from a distance by its stone walls. Beyond that lay the sea.

Loghain and his men had put in late so there was no formal reception, but the welcome they found was night and day to that of the ap Feils. His officers had been put up in guest quarters near the family rooms, and none of his men had been sent to the stables. Restless, Loghain had set out for a walk through the castle, finally ending up in a tower guardroom looking out towards the sea.

That is where Bryce found him as the Highever chapel bell tolled eleven o'clock. "Can't sleep, Mac Tir?" he asked, coming up behind. "Nor I. Can't ever sleep well when Eleanor is away." Bryce followed his eyes out towards the sea. "Maric," he guessed, judging why the other man was so quiet.

Loghain lifted his brows, confirming. "He put in here before sailing northward."

"Yes," Bryce acknowledged, sighing. "We were the last to see the king alive, so far as anyone knows. As I told your emissaries back then, I could see nothing amiss either with the ships or the crew. The king himself was in high spirits. Like a kid setting out on his first horseback ride."

"Did he... tell you anything? What he was thinking?" It pained Loghain to ask the questions, both because he suspected Maric might confide in someone else other than him, and because he feared what the answers might be. In Maric's last months he had begun to talk about strange things, about his regrets, about the son he had hidden away, and, most alarmingly to Loghain, about the witch and her damnable prophecies of Blight and betrayal.

"The king did not confide in me like that. If he had, I probably could not have told you anyway. Be assured, though, that if I knew anything that could help find out what happened to him, I would offer it up. I loved Maric, too."

Loghain glanced at the other teyrn. He knew that what Bryce said was true. Not all who had come through the rebellion loved Maric, especially not with what came after in the reconstruction. But Cousland had always been loyal. He had nearly lost his life, not only in the disastrous Battle of White Hill, but in the stealth missions which Loghain himself had sent him out to perform. Missions made possible because the young Cousland had been made to learn perfect Orlesian by his scholarly father. Loghain's eyes narrowed at the recollection. He did not really want to discuss Maric, neither did he want to beat around the bush. "Tell me about this arrangement with the Orlesians you and some of the bannorn are cooking up."

Bryce looked surprised, but not overly so. "So you've heard about that. And no doubt it has you concerned." He took a few steps, his demeanor thoughtful, then gestured at the town that lay beneath their feet. "Highever prospers not because I look back, but because I look ahead. International trade not only means my people have work, it means that Orlesians and Free Marchers pay the taxes they would otherwise have to. Ferelden will not survive if we are insulated. King Maric thought as much, or he wouldn't have risked his life for that voyage."

"I didn't ask for a lesson on the philosophy of ruling. Who exactly are you talking to? What are the terms? Does this go beyond trade agreements?"

"Of course it does," Bryce replied, matching him for bluntness. "Everything is tied up with politics, especially in Orlais. The shipping guilds are held tightly in the grip of various noble families, and all of these are beholden in one way or another to the Empress. I have good relations with certain ones, Eamon with others, thanks in part to his contacts through Isolde."

"You and Eamon." Loghain gave a bitter laugh. "A very cozy arrangement."

Bryce turned and gave him a pointed look. "We would have asked you to become involved, too, if I felt it would have done any good. Tell me, would you like to cement relations with some Orlesian noble families? Shall I arrange introductions for you?" Loghain's face burned with anger but he said nothing, and Bryce went on in a milder tone. "So there you see. I know how you feel about it, and I respect that. However, this is for the good of all Ferelden and not just Highever. Let us take care of it, Eamon and I. It need not trouble you at all."

Loghain approached, holding a finger to Bryce's chest. "I want to see the notes on these meetings. All of them. And you will give me access to all the duty houses to see what you are bringing in here and what you are sending out and where it is going. I will not have you selling Ferelden off piece by piece, letting the Orlesians buy what they could not keep by force."

Bryce paused, smiled, and reached up to move Loghain's finger aside. "I had understood your authority here to extend only to counting our troop levels. But I am King Cailan's subject and you are his representative. I will do what you ask." He stepped away, putting distance between the two men. "You will thank me for this work someday, Loghain. Or else my new grandson will. I don't have any fondness for the Orlesians, but we must work with them. It is inevitable. If we don't do so through peaceful means, there will be war again someday. Maybe not in our day, but in our children's or their children's. I would like to be remembered as laying a foundation for something better."

"I recall a lot of nobles saying the same thing in the rebellion, and using such talk as justification for selling out their neighbors."

Cousland gave a small laugh, ironic and sad. "I figured you would see it that way, or I'd have brought it up with you earlier. But let us not argue. You will have what you need and can satisfy yourself." He paused, then went on more quietly. "Elissa is well? The birth? I get the feeling there is something Eleanor is not telling me."

A shadow crossed Loghain's expression. "It was a difficult birth. Ellie bled a great deal, but they were able to stop it." He hesitated, adding, "The mage helped, I think."

Bryce sucked in a ragged breath, then nodded once. "Good. Good. My congratulations, Loghain. A son. It is a great thing for you. I cannot wait to meet him."

Loghain nodded, turning to leave with a brisk good night. He did not want these familiarities with Bryce, nor did he care for his sense of indebtedness he was inclined to feel towards the man who had raised Ellie, who had consented to their marriage. Loghain owed his current happiness partly to Bryce, a happiness he had once considered beyond reach for himself. He had no interest in awkward familial moments, however, certainly not after their discussion.

Returning to his quarters, Loghain met with another kind of awkwardness, this one more pleasant. He had been given Elissa's old room. Some of his wife's clothing still hung in the cupboards, her scent still lingering on them. An old training harness of Cutha's hung on the wall. He had glanced over the books on her shelves, left behind and yet more books than most people owned at all. On one wall hung a tapestry of what looked like the battle of River Dane. That gave Loghain pause. Leaning forward to examine the tapestry, he found a scene at the center which he guessed depicted himself standing above a chevalier in gleaming armor, holding a sword to the chevalier's neck and demanding surrender. Ellie had never mentioned that she had a wall hanging of the battle.

The tapestry made him smile, though after a moment it occurred to him that there was no blood anywhere on the field in this depiction. The hero with his sword was clean. He stared thoughtfully at the picture of himself until weariness finally drew him away. It was just as well that there was no blood in Ellie's conception of his heroic deeds. She had seen enough blood already, in her own birth bed. As Loghain had told Regan ap Feil, he would see to it that she never had to see more, even if he was the only man in the country who would do so. Even if it meant standing against her own father.

In the morning he woke early to get in some sword practice before breakfast. As he was coming out of his room, Loghain ran into a disheveled looking Fergus. The younger Cousland took one look at his armor and sword and brightened. "Are you going to spar, Teyrn Loghain? Take me with you. I want you to teach me."

Loghain hesitated. He had a great deal to do that day and little time for junior weapons training. The lad was so eager, however, and his face so like Ellie's- apart from the little bit of scruff that was trying to eke an existence on the boy's cheeks- that he gave in. At Loghain's nod, Fergus uttered a "whoop" and ran back into his room to retrieve his arms. In the end it proved not a bad way to start a day, for either of them.


	15. Chapter 15

_7 Justinian. Calenhad Crossing._

_Ellie,_

_We are on the northern shores of the lake, about to take the south road towards Redcliffe passing by Kinloch Hold. I have no plans to go to the tower but will re-supply at an inn near there. Was delayed a while at Highever to translate some documents, etc. Your father and brother send greetings. All is going as orderly as can be expected. I hope you and little Gareth are well. We should think about who might be a good tutor for him. There is time for that, of course. From Redcliffe we will take the west road towards Lothering and then on to Gwaren. If you send a letter by ship to Gwaren, it should reach me. However, you have much to do in caring for the baby so do not trouble yourself. I send you fond greetings._

_L.M.T._

"Not even out of swaddling and your father would have you learning your sums already." Ellie looked up from the letter, laughing and reaching over to rub her son's belly. She had spread her cloak out under a tree in the palace gardens and lain Gareth on his back, unbinding his limbs so that he could get some freedom in the warm summer air. This he took with abandon, kicking and waving his arms and occasionally stopping to stare up at the dappled light coming through the tree branches.

Meanwhile Ellie went back to reading her letter for the second time. There was a blotted ink splotch just below her name. Loghain had written her name and then paused. _He didn't know what to write_, she guessed, smiling to herself. Her husband often had to write letters in his official capacity, and this read almost like such a report, yet he had lingered over his words. There was another ink splotch towards the end.

"Come, Baby of River Dane," Ellie said cheerfully, folding the letter and turning to gather up Gareth once more. "Let us go write your da a letter." As mother and child passed under some palace windows on their way home, she glanced up and noticed Cailan's figure framed in one of them, looking down at her. Quickly Ellie turned her eyes away and pretended that she hadn't seen the king at all.

* * *

7 Justinian, 9:26 Dragon Age. Calenhad Crossing.

Loghain stirred on his bedroll and his eyes half-opened. He scowled at the figure crouched next to him. "Let me sleep, Maric, damn you. I had the watch."

A moment later his eyes opened and Loghain started up as he realized what he had just mumbled. The figure was not his friend, of course, not the crown prince of the rebellion come to wake him for an early scouting trip. Disappointment cut him as he realized that it had been but a trick of memory in his half-awake state. The figure shaking him was Alun Marwell, once Maric's bodyguard, left behind to guard Cailan when the king had sailed and later demoted by Cailan to a regular captain of the royal guard.

The guardsman was looking at him strangely, sadly. However, he spoke only plain business. "There's men in camp, Teyrn. They're asking after you."

Loghain ran a hand across his face. His voice was husky with sleep. "Alright. Thank you." Marwell stood and Loghain followed, dressing hastily. There were dark circles under his eyes when he emerged from his tent, waving off a cup of tea that one of the men held out towards him.

Three men stood with Marwell near the fire, and when they turned, Loghain grimaced. He did not try to hide his displeasure as he approached the center one, the Grey Warden named Duncan. "What do you want? Following us, or just happened along?"

The Warden replied calmly, "We are returning to Denerim from Orzammar, your grace, and saw your banners. I thought we might be of service to you somehow. You must have messages to send back to the king."

"Thank you but I shall not trust my letters to anyone but my own messengers." Loghain's tone was curt. "I have enough men to do the job. Was there anything else?"

"No. No, I suppose not. King Endrin sends his greetings. He mentioned you in particular. The dwarves are always interested in great warriors."

Loghain made a noncommittal noise, judging Duncan's words to be flattery. In any case, he was not about to discuss the crown's diplomatic affairs with a Grey Warden. He gave the men a dismissive farewell and was about to leave when he paused. Turning back, Loghain spoke in more measured tone. "There is one letter you might take. To my wife. I was going to post one from Redcliffe, but..."

"I would be happy to take it," Duncan replied, bowing his head.

Regarding the Warden Commander warily, Loghain waffled. He did not want to give the man more excuse to be filling Ellie's head with their secretive order's peculiar ideas, yet it might be a week or more until he got the opportunity to post the letter otherwise. Bryce had offered to send one, but it had felt too awkward to write to Ellie from Highever. Matters with her father were tense. Though he had found nothing untoward in Cousland's documents, the fact that there were so many of them detailing the other teyrn's contacts in Orlais had kept Loghain up more than one night during the week and a half the party remained in Highever. They had then returned to the Bannorn for a time, where all his energy was taken up in trying not to start any fights.

Nearly three months already, and he had not written one line. He had promised to do better than he had with Celia, but old patterns died hard. Still, Loghain realized with a dagger twist of guilt, he hadn't tried very hard to kill this one. "I'll be but a few minutes," he agreed brusquely. "There should be breakfast soon." With a wave at the fire as an implied invitation for the Wardens to eat, Loghain retreated back to his tent to write his letter.

The camp was well on its way to being packed up by the time Loghain emerged. He handed Duncan the letter with a mumbled "thank you" and turned to take his own hasty breakfast. As he stood near the fire with tin mug of tea in hand, a messenger who had come in late the night before reported that he had sent word on to Redcliffe of their arrival.

"And I learned of that abbey you asked after, Teyrn Loghain," the rider added. "Tewellyn. It's on t'other side of the lake, hidden up in the mountains and no one knows rightly where, but they said the sisters at the Chantry in Redcliffe would know more."

"Thank you, Cerwin." When Loghain turned, he noticed the Warden Commander's eyes resting on him, but he had no further time for the man. He called for the march and the survey party moved out towards the south road, leaving the Wardens behind them.

* * *

2 Solace, 9:26 Dragon Age. Southron Hills.

The party made a camp because they knew the general would be a while. As he headed off on foot, Loghain heard an argument break out behind him between Alun Marwell and some of the Gwaren men. The royal guardsman insisted that he should not go off alone, that no man should when they were so close to the Korcari Wilds, whereas a Gwaren lieutenant reminded him that this was Loghain they were talking about and that sometimes a man needed to be alone. Loghain himself did not interfere, nor did he object when he heard Marwell telling them all to sod off because he was going with the teyrn whether anyone liked it or not. It was that sort of bullishness and loyalty that had earned him a trusted place in Maric's entourage. Loghain also did not mind the company, though what he had to do was his task and he would not have asked for it otherwise.

By afternoon they had reached the well-known spot. Marwell helped him clear away the brush that had overgrown it, then sat at a distance while Loghain stood over the simple stone post he had erected some twenty-two years earlier. Leaning over, he rubbed with a gloved hand at the lichen that obscured the lettering in the stone, revealing it once more: GARETH MAC TIR. Then he turned towards the other and did the same, exposing the letters EILED MAC TIR. His father's bones had been laid here by Mother Ailis after the attack, but the post bearing his mother's name was merely symbolic. Loghain had searched for the spot above their old house where he had once buried her, but someone had knocked down his marker and the brush was so thick that he had never found her body again.

He was not the type to speak to the dead. If the dead could hear the words of the living, then they could see their actions as well, and that was all that mattered. He had kept his promise to his father to protect Maric, at least until the damnable ships, and he had beaten the Orlesians that ravaged his mother, though the usurpers always sought inroads back in. Their granddaughter was now queen of Ferelden. Loghain had thought that the best tribute he could have offered, but maybe the old man would have been even more pleased to hold his namesake in his arms. He could not really guess. There was no one alive who knew his mother but him, and the one who had understood his father best, Mother Ailis, was long dead and buried in Denerim. Loghain stood a while, remembering all of them, before he turned back and walked with Marwell back to camp, neither man saying a word.

That evening, Loghain had the men break camp and move into the nearby village, where he stood everyone a hot meal and took all the rooms available to let anywhere in town. It was a considerable expense and Loghain's purse had thinned as he had made his way through Ferelden, but it was not only for his men's sake that he did it. After the attack on his father's camp during which Gareth Mac Tir fought his last, this village had sheltered what was left over of the group of cast-offs that had looked to his father for leadership. It was where Loghain had found Mother Ailis after the rebellion ended, when she showed him where she had buried his father's body and held him in the rain while he wept. He owed the village a debt he could never repay.

* * *

23 August, 9:26 Dragon Age. Denerim.

By the time Loghain was in his study flipping through correspondence, he knew that he was just dawdling and delaying his return home purposely. The party had put in that morning on a ship from Amaranthine. He had been sick, literally and in every other way, at the thought of boarding a ship, but for his men's sake he had done it. They took ship first at Gwaren and put in at Amaranthine to call on the odious, fawning Rendon Howe. One day of his company was more than enough for Loghain. The same ship was headed to Denerim the following day, so he had agreed to book further passage.

At the palace, Loghain accompanied his men to the bursar and saw that they were paid, including a bonus out of his own budget. Then when they dispersed for a well-earned leave, he had gone upstairs and reported in to Cailan. The king was in remarkable spirits but did not want to hear any details, waving Loghain off "until tomorrow or maybe the next day." Such had been the young king's burning impatience to know of his troop readiness. Loghain left him to stop in at his study and private rooms for a wash and change of clothes. It was mid-afternoon by the time he finished and loitered around his desk, dropping the pile of notes he had kept from the trip.

Finally he left and made his way towards the residence. He heard Ellie first before he caught sight of her. She was laughing and calling to someone. When Loghain opened the gate, she was just coming around the side of the house, and his stomach dropped when he saw her. Halting in her tracks, Ellie paused a moment, then called out his name and came running. When she was a few feet away, her steps slowed, a beaming smile on her face.

They had been married almost two years, had a child together, and yet as Loghain regarded the woman before him, he was struck by how young she was, by the sweet smile and her ready warmth. What was he doing here exactly? In the first days and weeks of his mission, he had missed his wife acutely, and cursed Cailan day and night for parting him from her and from his baby so soon after the birth. Yet over the ensuing several months, Loghain had come to feel more his old self again: The independent man, the soldier. It had been easier to fall back into than he had anticipated. Now there was this young, this _very_ young, woman, gazing at him with her expectations and her apparent, inexplicable delight at seeing him.

"Loghain?" Ellie asked, worry creeping into her voice as he hesitated to greet her.

He forced a smile, dropped his pack and stepped forward, leaning down to give her a brief kiss and hug. "Hello, Ellie. You are looking well." That much was true. When he had left Denerim earlier that year, she had still looked pale from the ordeal of the birth. That was no longer the case, and her figure had returned to much its athletic proportions apart from a greater fullness in her breasts.

She smiled, relieved, and did not let him get away with such a wan embrace. Throwing her arms around his shoulders, she kissed his cheek and reached for his hand. "We've missed you. Missed you terribly."

"Where is Gareth?"

"He's in the back with Erlina." At his questioning look, Ellie gestured vaguely and Loghain thought he caught a flash of unease, perhaps guilt. "She's a maid that Anora sent over when my mother returned home. I'll explain later. Come, he'll want to see you."

Loghain doubted very much that his six month-old son was even aware of his existence, but he let himself be led around to the back of the house anyway. A dark-haired elf was holding the baby, pointing out the swans to him. Gareth was kicking and gesturing, trying very hard to strike out on his own swan-chasing expedition.

"He's so big," Loghain remarked, saying the first thing that came to his mind.

Ellie laughed. "You have no idea. Try carrying him around all day." When they reached the maid, she took Gareth from her and said, "Erlina, this is the queen's father, my husband."

The elf gave him a placid expression and replied in the soft, deferential tone of a cultured servant. And in a thick Orlesian accent. "Of course. It is a pleasure to meet you, Teyrn Loghain."

He did not have much time to stare, since a moment later Ellie was putting Gareth into his arms. As the sight of his son's face drew all his attention, Loghain soon forgot about the unpleasant fact of an Orlesian woman living in his house. He held the baby uneasily at first, not having had practice in such a thing in so long that he felt ungainly at it.

"See, Gareth, your da-da has come home," Ellie was burbling, leaning in to tug at the boy's garment.

Loghain's head felt light, but when Gareth's dark blue eyes fixed on him, he smiled in spite of himself. Turning, he walked a few steps away, put the elf behind him and stared down at the bundle lying on his arm. Ellie followed, watching them.

"So, here you are," Loghain finally said, his voice soft. He reached up a hand to touch the baby's silken dark hair, and Gareth caught the finger in his own hand and held on to it. Loghain laughed, then fell silent again. It was all too difficult to fathom. Somehow, by some turn of fate, he had become not only husband but father again. He had come home from many missions, but it had been a long time since he had come home to anything like this. It took him a moment to realize that his eyes were swimming.

Gareth interrupted to deliver an abrupt shout. Turning to Ellie, Loghain blinked back the unformed tears and asked with amusement, "What was that?"

"Barking an order, I think," she replied with a smile. "Like father, like son. Only the junior general really, _really_ likes the sound of his own voice."

"Does he." Loghain returned his gaze to the squirming little boy and hesitated a moment before leaning down to plant a gentle kiss on his forehead. Gareth blinked, and afterward stared up at his father as though mesmerized. His look of fascination soon broke into a grimace and a fussy cry, at which point Ellie took over once more. Even junior generals could be laid low by hunger.

Loghain had not eaten all day, either, and he took his lunch with Ellie and Gareth on the terrace. The Orlesian elf had absented herself, wisely.

"You're feeding him yourself?" Loghain asked, surprised, as he glanced at his son nursing.

"Yes, and I'm aware that I'm a wretched person for doing so."

"I never said..."

"I know." Ellie smiled across to him. "I do have a wetnurse in sometimes, especially when I need to sleep. To hear the other noblewomen tell it, though, the fact that I didn't let my breasts dry up is a scandal. As is the fact that I've returned to sparring on the days when I have the energy. Even my mother grumbled about it. The way I see it, the smallfolk nurse their own babies and work and they don't drop dead because of it."

There were in fact women who died in their children's infancy, Loghain knew, from milk fever or simply overwork. He wasn't about to bring that up, however, and both Ellie and the child looked the picture of health. "Do as you think best," he replied, trying not to let his eyes wander to the soft curve of Ellie's breast while his son was making use of it for his own purposes.

Loghain had his own chance at them later that night, after Ellie had put Gareth to sleep. They both stood looking down at him a while. Ellie then turned, putting her hands at Loghain's waist and gazing up at him. Though the blood was pounding in him, the sense of unreality he had felt earlier returned. He had no business touching this beautiful young woman. Yet her scent, the feel of her hands moving on his back, was suddenly familiar again, as was her kiss. Their tongues met and melted together and after a time Loghain moved on to her ear, but then he drew her against his chest in a tight embrace, practically lifting her off her feet.

"How I have missed you," he whispered hoarsely into her ear. More than that, his mind reeled at the memory that in this very house, he had come so ominously close to losing her. Loghain held on to her like she might slip away again, and when he could stand it no longer, scooped her into his arms and took her to the bed. A pest on his reluctance. Young she might be, and better off with any other man in the country, but she was his wife and by all signs she had felt the lack of intimacy in their separation, too.

As he was about to enter her, both of them too eager to undress except for exposing the necessary parts, Loghain stopped himself. "Are you alright?" He gestured at Ellie's thighs. They had not been together since the birth, and the memory of blood spreading on the sheets haunted him.

"I'm fine." Ellie tugged on his tunic impatiently, positioning herself underneath him. However, after another moment's hesitation, Loghain rolled, bringing her astride. Despite her assurance, he would let her be in control for now, just in case. She quickly adjusted to the change, and he groaned as she took him in, soon falling into their practiced rhythm. His head fell back and both hands slid up beneath her shift to hold her hips firmly. It took all his control to wait for her, but he did. When they finished, they slept until Gareth called in the early hours for his breakfast. Loghain woke, as well, watching silently. Ellie did not return the baby to his own bed, but laid him next to her, and all three of them fell asleep again with Loghain's arm draped over her waist.

The next afternoon, he went to see Anora in her study. They spoke at length about his trip and the goings-on in the various parts of the country. It had been some time since anyone had as close an overview of Ferelden's political situation as he now had. Nevertheless, Anora seemed already to know most of what he told her. That was his daughter, through and through, and it brought a wry smile to his lips. She liked to think that she didn't need anyone, but he knew otherwise. He made only brief mention of the grotesque notices he had seen posted which condemned putting a commoner on the throne.

At last he came to a more pointed matter, keeping his voice mild. "Just what do you think you are doing, Anora, with this maid of yours?"

"Now, Father, I knew you would be upset about that, but you must keep an open mind. Erlina comes highly recommended..."

"She's Orlesian!"

"An Orlesian who has run afoul of some very powerful people in Val Royeux, and thus who can be useful to us. Don't you always say that the best strategy is to get the enemy to hang himself?"

Loghain chuckled drily at her attempt to use his own words to win the argument. "Get her out of my house."

"Father, I think you should reconsider. Elissa needs help now."

"So you send over an Orlesian bard who, as I hear it, is not even good with children? Let us not play games, Anora. Queen you may be, and my daughter, but you are not welcome to spy on me. Nor on Ellie." After a pause he shook his head and added with exasperation, "By the Maker, you and Cailan are going to be the end of me."

Anora pursed her lips, but finally nodded. She did not bother to deny his accusation.

Later on in his study, Loghain got a visit from Iain Tallard, the treasury minister. After some pleasantries, the nervous older man moved on to what was a apparently a more delicate subject. "You see, your grace, there has been some talk. I am not one to repeat things, you know, but I felt you should know..."

"Go on, Iain. I have not forgotten how you spoke up for me at the last council meeting, nor your concern for my wife. We'll keep this between us." Loghain sat at his desk, leaning back with his fingers laced across his chest, while Tallard fidgeted on a settee.

"Thank you, your grace. It was nothing, but thank you. You see, in your absence I have been privy to some conversations that concerned you." The minister hemmed and hawed for some moments more before he came to the point. The matter, as it turned out, was that several of the other lords of the council were agitating for Loghain to be forced to return to Gwaren. "They are trying to convince the king that Gwaren suffers for lack of its teyrn, you see. That you have served a long, honorable career and ought to be encouraged to retire. If you will not go willingly, they plan to seek unstable elements in Gwaren to lodge complaints with the king."

Loghain's face was darkening the longer Tallard spoke. "Names, Iain. I want their names."

Tallard reluctantly named the men, then after a hesitation leaned in to speak more earnestly. "Loghain, these rabble-rousers have ill intent, without a doubt, but do you not think it an idea anyway? You _have_ served honorably and long, and if you will forgive me, would not your young wife and child be happier in Gwaren, away from the court? Queen Anora is present now and seems fit to make a capable ruler, even should King Cailan present certain... deficiencies. Speaking in confidence now, I remind you."

Silence reigned while Loghain regarded his counterpart. He had always respected Tallard and gotten along with him. The man was good at what he did and kept only to his figures rather than playing politics. People changed, however, especially when there was instability in the air. Was the minister now acting as the honey to achieve the same end that these other snakes were trying to bring about with intrigue? After a few moments deliberation, Loghain rejected that suspicion as unlikely. The scribbler was too guileless and he seemed to have developed a soft spot for Ellie. Many people did if they but talked to her, both smallfolk and at court alike. Nor was Tallard wrong that she would be better off away from Denerim, and likely happier in Gwaren as well. He decided to answer the minister straightforwardly. "I will remain, Iain, for the very reasons you point out. Queen Anora is here and our king presents certain deficiencies. She is my daughter, I remind you, not just our queen."

The minister nodded understanding. "Of course. Of course. You are a man of duty, Teyrn Loghain, I have always said it. Now, having gotten that unpleasantness out of the way, you wanted a briefing on the state of the treasury and particularly on the royal navy..."

That evening, the Orlesian bard was already gone. Ellie seemed relieved. Anora had apparently told some sob story about the girl needing a placement, but since Anya had proven both able and willing to serve as Gareth's nurse, Ellie was pleased that the order of their little household could once again go back to normal. Or what passed for normal, with a rambunctious infant at the center of it all.

The wetnurse was present that evening, and Ellie and Loghain used the freedom to continue getting re-acquainted with one another. They retired to his chambers, locking the door and tossing clothing hither and yon on their way to the bed. Before they reached it, however, Loghain changed his mind, drawing her instead towards a chair and turning up the lamp nearby.

Ellie followed along, straddling him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. After they had kissed a time, she dislodged herself and moved down between his knees. Before she even touched him, let alone drew him in, Loghain's eyes fell closed. She was good at this. Too good. He indulged until it was almost too late before pulling on her shoulders and drawing her up to his lap once more. There was no more shyness for either of them when he was once again inside her. He avoided her breasts, knowing they were put to other uses these days, though he at least gave his eyes free rein. In their grappling, the fact that Ellie had resumed her training nevertheless became apparent. Her muscles had quickly remembered their firmness, and for now, at least, she seemed to have her vigor back as well. After seeing her wan and listless after the birth, it was an incredible relief, besides arousing him even further.

Later, as she slumped slack against his shoulder, breath still ragged, Loghain stroked her back and gently kissed at her ear and neck. When Ellie eased back, they regarded each other across small space. There was a sheen of moisture over both their bodies that cooled as a breeze fluttered the curtains from the open window. A bead of sweat clung to Ellie's lip and Loghain leaned forward to kiss at it. She took the opening and returned his kiss, murmuring hungrily into it. When they broke once more, her eyes fell to his side and she traced a fingertip along a jagged scar there. Ellie largely ignored his scars, which was just as well with Loghain, but he did not protest.

"You have scars now, too," he pointed out quietly, rubbing a finger over the pink tracks that made rivulets along her belly. He had also seen these on her thighs and knew they were from the baby stretching her skin. At Ellie's hurt look, he shook his head. "No, I didn't mean it like that. They are no worse than these on me, and no less honorable. More honorable, even. Most of these I got for being stupid or slow."

She smiled, and the slight tension went out of her again. Loghain brushed a thumb across her cheek, regarding her tenderly. So much had changed with the baby and his departure, but she was still the Ellie he had become so enamored of in the year prior to that. The changes and his absence also brought other things into clearer focus. His father had always taught him not to be fooled by tricks of the forest, not to shoot before he had a target, but always to really see what lay before him. Loghain had to admit that, hard as it was to believe, the woman in his arms was not just the woman he had been forced to marry, but was a true match for him. Others might not see it, but he was a fool if he didn't. She was a warrior, she was just as determined as he when her mind was set to something, and there was strength and courage in her. She was a true mate for him. Nothing had ever seemed less likely for him to find.


	16. Chapter 16

Satinalia Eve, 9:27 Dragon Age.

The infiltrator crept into Loghain's office, intent towards his desk. Surely he would find endless objects of fascination in a place where the teyrn spent so much time. By the time he reached it, however, it was plain that there was a problem. Even on tiptoes his nose was the only thing that could reach above it. An alternate plan was required. Going to the seat opposite, he pulled himself up into it, then turned around and flopped back, looking very satisfied with himself.

Ellie stood in the doorway, exchanging amused looks with her husband as she watched Gareth creep over to the desk and then settle into the chair like a visiting dignitary.

Loghain feigned surprise at seeing him. "Well, who do we have here? A visitor. And I was just thinking that I had had enough of work today."

Gareth let out a mischievous giggle, as though he and his father had worked on this plan together. The one and a half year-old still had the thick, silky dark hair he had been born with, wavy like his mother's, but his eyes had turned a snapping dark brown, one shade darker than Ellie's own. His dimpled smile also favored his mother. Still, his nose and many of his facial expressions were a picture of his father and he was often referred to around the palace as "the little teyrn." Dressed as he was in a white cuffed shirt, dark blue doublet and trousers and small leather boots, he looked the part. No one talked about Gareth being a royal bastard any longer.

"You're still free to watch him?" Ellie asked, stepping over to Loghain's desk and leaning down to give him a quick kiss. She had her archery gear in tow.

"I am sure we will manage. Go slay your beasts." On her way out, she heard Loghain get up from his desk and announce, "Now then, Lieutenant Gareth, how about a whiskey?"

"Loghain!" Ellie whirled back around.

He raised his brows again and addressed Gareth regretfully. "It seems whiskey is out of the question." The little boy giggled, wise to the gist of this game if not its particulars. "Well then, we shall have to plot with dry whistles. Come, my boy. Let us see what country you feel like taking over today." Scooping his son up in his arms, Loghain stepped over to his large wall map. This was a game father and son played often. Loghain would ask what country he wished to invade, Gareth would point at one, and then they would scheme how to go about it. The independence of all Thedas was sorely in jeopardy. Ellie listened to the banter a moment, their son babbling in between Loghain's earnest replies, then slipped out with a grin on her face.

She was on her second set at the outdoor range when Anora approached. The queen stood off at a distance watching a few moments before she came closer.

"Anora. Good afternoon." Ellie lowered her bow.

Anora waved at her to continue shooting. "Don't let me keep you from your practice, Elissa. I wanted to speak with you in private, and as you know, there is no place inside the palace that is truly private."

"Nor outside, either, but I take your meaning." She lifted the bow again and drew. A moment later the arrow joined the others on the target, a little off the mark.

Anora watched her shoot a few more, then stepped closer and gestured toward her archery gloves. "A wyvern surrounded by a laurel wreath. Interesting."

"They were a bride gift from your father." Ellie reached for another arrow.

"Were they indeed?" Anora sounded surprised. She herself had picked out a shawl as Ellie's bride gift, and apparently it was news to her that Loghain had added to it. After a pause, she continued on, "You seem to have found quite a place in my father's affections, almost from the beginning."

Stopping mid-draw, Ellie glanced sidelong. There was a wistful air in the other woman's voice. She knew that Anora and Loghain had a difficult relationship, and guessed that it was because they were so alike. She and her own father had much the same dynamic, though they seemed to have gotten past it in a way that the queen and Loghain had not. Though Ellie had always kept her distance from Anora, she decided to venture a little. "Anora, Loghain loves you a great deal. And he has a high regard for you. The only reason he married me was to protect you."

"You do not need to remind me." The opening Ellie had glimpsed in the other woman closed, and Anora's cool demeanor set the distance between them again. "In any case, I did not come here to talk about Father."

"About what then? I am at your disposal."

"About Cailan."

Ellie drew a breath, and her own defenses flew up. The king had assumed a more normal, even cheerful, demeanor around her, and not made any more advances. There were even rumors he had moved on to other women. Nevertheless Ellie remained nervous on the subject. Cautiously she prompted, "Go on."

"I would like to know if you and Cailan have ever been intimate again since you came to Denerim."

Reddening, Ellie turned to face Anora squarely. "You know that isn't the case. You have eyes and ears everywhere in the palace, in all Denerim, Anora, so you know very well that I am not seeing Cailan or any other man."

The queen nodded. "I was fairly certain nothing like that had occurred, at least not recently. What I would like to know is..." She stopped and took a breath. "Is it in the realm of possibility that you would renew those intimacies with him again?"

Ellie looked at her uncomprehendingly. "Are you asking me if I still have feelings for Cailan?"

"I suppose. More specifically, I am asking if you would be willing to act on them. If you would be willing to become his mistress again. I have only two conditions."

The bow dropped and Ellie uttered a small, disbelieving laugh. About to demand what sort of joke the queen was playing, she paused and instead asked, "Out of curiosity, what are your 'conditions'?"

Anora stirred hopefully. "So you'll do it, then? My conditions are that first that you be discreet, that you not embarrass me. Secondly that you take precautions not to conceive another child. These are reasonable, I think, and you must understand why they are necessary."

Ellie shook her head and turned her eyes up to the few clouds that hung above in the warm autumn sun. It would not have been a surprise to see that the world had inverted and that the earth had changed places with the sky. She closed her eyes briefly to master her response, then turned back to the queen. "I would like to know why you think I would ever do such a thing, Anora. In fact, I think you had better explain yourself right now. Is this some kind of terribly poor joke? Or some trick?"

There was a note of desperation in the queen's voice. "It's not a trick. I want Cailan to be happy, Elissa. If he is going to take up with other women, I would rather know where he is and with whom. I believe that if he had you, he might be content and leave the others." She reached out to grasp Ellie's arm. "I would not ask you if I could think of another way. Do you think this is easy for me? If you are worried about Father, let me talk to him. He'll agree to it."

Ellie's face burned. "I'm sure he would, if I asked him. I am not going to do that."

"I see." Anora was tight-lipped, and for all the color in Ellie's face, the queen's had drained of it. "That is a final answer, then?"

"Quite final." Anora hesitated. It was plain she was searching for some other lever she might use, but since there were none, she turned to leave with a curt farewell. Ellie looked after her and spoke up again, softening her tone. "Anora, a word of advice. Cailan needs to feel that he has the upper hand. If nowhere else, then at least make him believe that he has it in your bed."

The queen stiffened visibly and said nothing. A moment later, the clip of her shoes made a quick report on the stone path leading back to the palace.

On the following evening there would be a ball in the palace as there were on all the annum feasts. Before the ball, Cailan and Anora hosted a dinner for their inner circle. The Couslands had also come to Denerim for Satinalia and were invited to the dinner. As the guests loitered, waiting for the king and queen to arrive, Gareth was passed off to his grandfather, and Ellie found Fergus.

"You are looking very dapper, little brother." Her smile was teasing as she straightened the brooch at the young man's neck, but it was true. The younger Cousland did look well, both taller and broader in shoulder than Ellie remembered seeing him before. Her father had mentioned that Fergus had stepped up his martial training, and it showed.

He pulled a face. "You aren't going to start in, too, are you?"

"Mother dropping hints about marriage already?"

"A 'hint' is usually something subtle, isn't it? Mother's hints are about as subtle as a shield in the face." Fergus took a belt of his wine and looked around the room as though prospective brides might jump out of the centerpiece to attack him. If he had seen Eleanor standing with a group of ladies and looking in his direction, he'd have recognized where the real danger lay.

Ellie decided not to point that out. "Now that I have had a child, she has to move on to the next thing. Besides, you are the heir of Highever now."

Fergus let out a little groan. "Don't remind me. You're lucky you got out of that one." He glanced around slyly again. "There are a few pretty ones here, too, but I'm afraid if I talk to them I'll turn around and find Mother drawing up the marriage papers."

Following his glances, Ellie brightened and tugged on his arm. "Let me do the introducing for you then."

By dinnertime, Fergus had garnered enough attention to please even Eleanor. His greatest coup came when his little nephew, tired of being passed around between the women, insisted on sitting on Uncle's lap for the remainder of dinner. Gareth and Fergus were great friends, and the sight of the Cousland heir entertaining a little boy set off coos and sighs all along the table.

For Ellie it was always a relief to have her family in Denerim. Compared to Highever, the scrutiny of Denerim society was vicious. Some of the noblewomen she had considered her friends before her marriage had shown different colors afterward. Loghain's enemies had also become hers. It made Ellie cautious. She was friendly with everyone, but rarely did she reveal herself beyond niceties. When Bryce and Eleanor and Fergus were nearby, however, she could feel that it was like old times and that she was safe, even if the illusion was fragile. She tried hard not to notice the coldness between her father and husband.

After dinner, Ellie and Loghain took Gareth back to the residence to leave him with Anya, then returned to the palace for the Satinalia masque. Masked balls were an Orlesian fashion, and for that reason most of the Fereldan nobility were wild for them. Despite what the country had suffered, there was an envy of Orlais that made everything from its high society an object of fascination. In Maric's reign, the best parties had been in the country estates just outside Denerim, but Cailan and Anora had made the palace the place to be on such occasions.

Loghain would have preferred not to attend at all, however for the sake of appearances he went along. He steadfastly refused a mask. Ellie enjoyed the spectacle and the chance to dress up. She could enjoy it all the more for the fact that Cailan never approached her for a dance any longer, though he did dance with other women.

One woman leaned in as they were talking, and gestured to where the king danced with a wealthy merchant's daughter. "Very like his father, don't you think? So charming."

"I recall that Maric didn't dance at such affairs," Ellie answered.

The other woman looked surprised. "Did he not? You know, you're right. I had forgotten. Ah well, lucky for us then!"

Ellie could only return a wan smile at that. The music changed, and after bowing to his partner, Cailan turned and returned to the dais and made a show of begging Anora to dance. There was cheering and clapping when she agreed and the pair returned to the floor. The people loved this mask the best, that of the loving king and queen. For all their devotion to Maric, the nobility had put him aside just as they had put memories of the occupation aside. The country was at peace and other than the usual petty concerns of the smallfolk, there was little to trouble them. They had young, energetic monarchs now, a bright future, and endless amusements for distraction. In the midst of it, Loghain stood mostly off to the side, talking with people here and there, and dancing with Ellie on one of the slower dances. He did not stand beside the royal chair as he once had, and without Maric seemed more out of place in the rowdy hall than ever.

Ellie soon tired of the affair, as well. Fergus was well installed with other young nobles of his age, though Bryce and Eleanor kept him under a close eye. Ellie danced her last with Bryce, then with the party getting so raucous that the noise of it echoed off the ceiling rafters, she and Loghain retired early. They looked in on Gareth sleeping before going to Loghain's chambers. Still clothed in their finery, they slowly made love, and the echoes of the ball in the distance became merely a backdrop for the murmur of silk and the quiet sounds of their bodies moving together.

Late that night, they were woken by pounding on the bedchamber door. Loghain disentangled himself from Ellie and rose to answer it. When he returned, he was already changing clothes. "I have to go out for a while," he told her quietly. "Go back to sleep." In the few moments while he hastily dressed, he would not answer any other questions.

It was near dawn when Loghain returned. He would have waved off her questions again, but when she insisted, finally he came and sat on the bed. Head bowed, he explained, "The royal guard called me. They wanted help managing a certain situation."

"Cailan. What is it? What's happened?"

Loghain had sounded weary, but his voice took on an edge of bitterness. "That damn little whelp wasn't content debauching in the palace. We found him passed out in a brothel and had to bodily carry him home. Apparently he had rented out the entire place and brought a slew of his favorites along with him, both men and women, for a little orgy at the crown's expense." He fell silent, but Ellie could see Loghain's fists clenching. "Every advantage his entire life, and this is what that Maker-damned wastrel does to my daughter. I swear, Ellie, if he weren't Maric's son..."

"He is the king."

Loghain uttered a bitter little snort and rose, pacing. "I'm just glad Maric isn't alive to see this. It would cut him up. I don't know what to do, Ellie." He ran a hand across his hair, and she recognized that there was guilt alongside his anger and disappointment. Reaching out for his hand, she caught it and clasped it.

"You can't help it that he's so unlike Maric."

Loghain shot her a strange look. "That's just it. Maric wouldn't be upset because Cailan isn't like him, but because he has his faults. Maric once sulked for a week, drunk as a pickled plum, because he thought Arl Rendorn wasn't taking him seriously enough. With women, well, let us just say he was not always the wisest. He would always snap out of it eventually, though. I am afraid that Cailan won't and that this is only the beginning. Just when I think he is starting to show signs he knows how to be a king, he pulls something like this."

"Come back to bed. You're exhausted."

He paced a while longer, but eventually complied and returned to their bed. When Ellie drifted back to sleep towards dawn, Loghain's eyes were still open, looking up at the canopy.

Gareth ensured that his parents never overslept whether they would have liked to do so or not. He could be entertained quietly only so long by the staff before Ellie and Loghain would hear singing or talking outside their door, followed eventually by banging. If they delayed the inevitable even further, he would resort to calling for mamma or da-da in tones that moved from plaintive to ever more commanding. On this morning, he had a co-conspirator in Cutha the mabari, who could be heard snuffling and whimpering outside the door. The combination of mabari boy howls would have woken the dead.

The family ate a late breakfast together with Anya. There would be no work in the palace that day, so Loghain retired to his study, and the women took boy and mabari out in the yard to play. Eventually rain drove them inside again. After lunch, Ellie decided to get in some sword practice during Gareth's nap.

Both men and women commented on Ellie's determination to remain active in war arts, and sometimes Loghain even remarked on it. With a young son, it was unlikely that she would ever be called on to fight. Nevertheless it was more important to her than ever to feel that she had some skill that had nothing to do with nappies or tea salons. There was a thrill to the physical exertion and risk that Ellie did not like to be without for more than a few days. Her son was already used to the sight of both his parents in armor and shield. Swords and daggers had to be kept locked out of his way. It was certain that he would also become "little teyrn" in this respect, too.

Most of the guard was off duty and sleeping off Satinalia, but there was one person in the practice hall. "Ser Cauthrien. Dedicated as always." Ellie strode up to the weapon racks, looking over the practice swords. Loghain's second turned, startled at her approach, and after a mumbled greeting, excused herself. Ellie spoke up again, disappointed. "No, don't go. Stay. I've been wanting to learn more with the greatsword. Would you consent to teach me?"

"My lady, I think it not appropriate."

Ellie's brow knit. "Not appropriate? Why ever not?"

Cauthrien looked unwilling to answer. In the several years since Ellie's marriage to Loghain, his closest confederate had kept carefully out of Ellie's way, and had been stiff and overly proper with her, barely mumbling two words. It seemed to Ellie a great shame, since the two women had so much in common. Finally Cauthrien answered, "You are my lord's wife and the mother of his child. You practice too hard, my lady. If something should happen to you, I'll not have it be under my blade."

After a momentary surprise, Ellie smiled and nodded. "You speak wisely, ser knight. I trust you, but I don't want to put you in an awkward position. I'll content myself with the straw dummies."

The woman lingered, watching Ellie. Finally Cauthrien spoke up again. "If it pleases you, my lady. We will be careful."

"Nothing would please me more," Ellie answered, reaching with relish for a greatsword.

An hour later and dripping with sweat, she put up her practice gear and thanked Cauthrien. The knight remained behind her, continuing to practice, as Ellie left for home. At the base of the great stair, she paused. Trying not to think too much about what she was doing, she ascended and made for the royal quarters. The guard in Cailan's chambers were so compliant in waving her through that Ellie wondered if Anora had given them the order to do so.

Cailan was awake, though barely. He sat slumped over a work table spread with books and papers, his blond hair wet and uncombed. When Ellie entered, he started but did not get up. Sounding dejected, he spoke over his shoulder. "What do you want?"

"Your Majesty, are you alright?"

The young face looked grey, and not only because he was unshaven. "Why do you care? Where is Loghain? I expected the attack dog, not the kennel bitch."

Ignoring the insult, Ellie came closer. "Cailan, what are you doing? What is this?" She crouched down and put a hand on his arm. He flinched at the touch but didn't move or respond. "You are only hurting yourself, can't you see that?"

"Like I hurt myself by getting involved with you. I seem to be good at that." The king glanced at her, pulled himself free and stood.

Standing, Ellie's eyes fell on the books littering the table. There were volumes on history and military tactics, and a scandalous romance that Anya had been mad for. Like his mother, Cailan had always been a reader, though he seemed to have trouble picking just one or finishing. Looking up, she answered, "That is all in the past now. I am here as your friend, Cailan. You have to wake up and see what you're doing. You can be a good king, but only if you master yourself and attend to your duty."

He laughed quietly. "You sound just like Loghain."

"I sound just like my father. And like yours." Ellie noticed a spasm of hurt crossed Cailan's features, and recalled the day shortly after Maric's disappearance that Cailan had come to her in the residence while Loghain was away. He had wanted to sleep with her, but when Ellie refused, he knelt at her feet, put his head in her lap and wept.

She stepped over to him and put a hand on his arm. "I know you miss him. We all do."

Cailan's eyes were bleary as he looked up at her. "I do. And I miss you. You were the only one who ever really listened to me. Not even Father did that. He was always off in a world of his own." The king reached up a hand and brushed a thumb across Ellie's cheek, giving her a tired smile. "We had a lot of fun, didn't we?"

Ellie returned the smile. "We did." It was true, though when he turned and leaned closer, she regretted the admission. She did not pull away, however, not even when Cailan leaned in and began to kiss her. He brought a hand up to touch her hair, and slowly moved to embrace her, trying to deepen the kiss. When Ellie remained unresponsive, however, he broke it, pulling back slightly to look at her. She spoke just above a whisper, but her words were firm. "I love Loghain."

Cailan withdrew a step, expression hardening. Turning to walk a few paces, he stared hard at the window some moments before turning back to her. "You know, Loghain tried to take my mother away. Did he tell you that?"

"He gave her up."

"Not without stealing her love first. I know the whole story. Father wanted me to know it, though I'm not sure why." Cailan's eyes moved towards the portrait of Rowan and Maric on the far wall, but he avoided their solemn gaze as though frightened of it. He then turned back to Ellie. "I keep wondering if this is Loghain's revenge. He couldn't have my mother, so he took you from me."

Tears sprang to Ellie's eyes. "He didn't want to love your mother. He told me the whole story. As for Loghain and I, neither of us expected to love each other, either. It was just a political marriage, you know that. Cailan, can't you be happy for us? Can't you be happy yourself? If not with Anora, then find some mistress who cares for you. No one will deny you that if you are discreet." When he didn't answer, she pressed, "Whatever you do, you have to cut out this whoring and drink. You're not a young prince anymore. Even what you and I did, that wasn't proper, but now you're the king and you have to master whatever this is that is eating at you. This isn't Orlais. The nobles won't put up with this in a king."

Cailan's mouth drew to a tight line and he waved a finger at her. "You forget yourself, Ellie. Loghain is my underling, not the other way around. He's not even my high councillor anymore, in case you've forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten," Ellie answered, her demeanor also turning colder. The previous year, there had been an attempt by some lords of council who were jealous of Loghain's influence over the crown to return him to Gwaren so that they could gain his position next to Cailan's chair. Loghain learned of the plan and he and Anora, after some deliberation, had decided that he should voluntarily give up the title of high councillor and remain only as commanding general of Ferelden's armies. The decision was only a feint however, not a retreat. For a few days, Loghain's enemies rejoiced that they had won a victory. During that time, Cailan began to worry that Loghain and Ellie might actually leave Denerim and retire to a life in their quiet backwater teyrnir. Anora fed him the suggestion that this was likely to happen. Whatever issue he might have with Loghain, he was the Hero of River Dane and the king needed him. Cailan had enjoyed the flattery of the snakes, but when it came down to it, he also didn't want any of them at his side. Anora was named the new chancellor and everything had gone on just as it had before. Everyone knew who could get things done, and they still looked to Loghain or the queen.

At such moments it was not above Cailan to bring up the shuffle, however, as though it had been some coup on his part. "Then you had best remind him of it and remember it yourself. I don't need any lectures from either of you on how to be king, nor from Anora either. None of you would be here without me.

Seeing that her effort had been futile, Ellie made to go, but Cailan wasn't finished. He caught her arm. " And what are you, Elissa, but the daughter of one teyrn and wife of another? You're neither heir of Highever anymore nor of Gwaren either. You have no place at court. That's what marrying Loghain got you, exactly nothing. You know what people do when I go out in the streets? They cheer. Women _weep_. Everyone recognizes Anora now, but does anyone even know who you are? The people love me and they always will."

Ellie turned, her voice vehement. "If you choose to believe that, you're a greater fool than you look. And you can keep telling yourself that your blood will always protect you, but that isn't true, either. I just hope that you don't bring the rest of us down with you."

Cailan's ashen face turned white. Not even when they were lovers had Ellie spoken to him so frankly. She had always done just as she had advised Anora to do, always let him have his way, always smiled and gave in. Even in rejecting him, she had taken the cowardly route, ducking behind her father and Loghain. Marrying Loghain had turned out to be the best thing she had ever done, but it still made Ellie angry at herself to think of how it had come to be. Wrenching her arm free, she turned to leave. Only when she was once again in the outer hall did she realize that she was shaking.

At home, Gareth soon had her in better spirits. Nevertheless when Loghain came in and pulled her aside, Ellie expected him to bring up Cailan, perhaps to scold her for the visit. He was subdued, but only asked if she was free for dinner that evening. At her nod, he replied, "Good. You'll want to put on a nice dress." Without another word Loghain retreated to his own chambers, leaving Ellie looking after him in surprise.

There was still a mist in the air and the air had grown cool, so Ellie put on a dress of blue velvet with chain belt, and took her hooded cloak as well. They saw Gareth to bed and set off, Loghain holding her arm and steadying her as they walked through the slick, uneven streets. There was less revelry than there had been on the night before, but many were still out on the streets. The market fair would still be going on for the rest of the week.

They turned in at the Gnawed Noble Tavern in the market district, and were met at the door by a hostess. "All is prepared, your grace," she told Loghain, taking their cloaks.

Surprised, Ellie asked, "What is going on?"

Loghain just gave Ellie a little smile and directed her to the back. There, the staff had curtained off an area near the great hearth and there was a table set for them. With as many patrons as were out during the fair week, Ellie knew that only a national hero could have secured such a good location for a private dinner. When food was brought, she saw that it was all her favorites, lamb chops with mint and roasted potatoes and an enormous tart with what must be the last of the strawberries. Finally the waitress brought a cheese plate and Ellie found on it a fabulously rare Anderfels brown cheese, her favorite since she was a girl. She laughed, asking, "Loghain, what is this? It's not even my birthday."

He simply smiled and gestured with his glass. "Eat."

They talked about their son and about the latest news that was circulating from nobles visiting for Satinalia. Neither mentioned Cailan or Anora, a subject they obviously both wanted to forget a while. When they were finished, Loghain gestured for her to follow him. Ellie assumed they were going to have a drink at the bar, but when they reached the common room he retrieved their cloaks, took her hand and led her back through the kitchen and storeroom. By the time they reached the roof ladder, she was laughing again but knew better than to question.

They emerged onto the roof and walked past rain vats and storage crates to the rail, where they had a good view of the market below them and the palace and Fort Drakon high above. Compared to the tavern below, the roof was blessedly quiet and it felt as though they were alone. There were not many places, not even at home with Gareth and with all their staff, where that was the case.

Ellie gazed out at the city a few moments, then turned to Loghain with a smile of amazed contentment. His own smile was more subdued, and his tone serious as he asked, "Are you happy?" She guessed by his earnestness that he meant to ask about more than their dinner. When she nodded, he stepped closer and put an arm around her waist, studying her. "I know you are often on your own, you and Gareth. I am sorry about that."

It was true that Loghain was often wrapped up in work, and his survey mission of the year before had not been the last time he was called away from Denerim. "We manage. I wish I was more help to you."

"I admit that I sometimes wish I could draft you as one of my officers. Your talents are wasted. What you are doing is more important, however. You are a good mother." Loghain paused before adding, "No requests to return to the Fade yet, for example."

Ellie laughed. She had once joked that their baby would want to return to the Fade when he saw his mother. "No, just requests to swing from the rafters."

"And to ride Cutha like a horse."

"That was your idea, Loghain," she reminded him.

"Ah. I do seem to recall something like that." He leaned over, drawing her into a kiss. His hands slid down to her back and he hoisted her up slightly, closing the distance between their mouths as Ellie wrapped her arms around his shoulders. The mist turned to rain but neither of them moved from the spot and they simply allowed the drops to wet their hair and faces and mingle in their kissing.

When they walked home later that night with hoods up against the rain, Ellie took his arm. "This was lovely."

"I'm glad you liked it. I should have done something like this long ago."

"What brought all this on?"

Loghain walked in silence a time, obviously reluctant to answer. Finally, eyes trained forward, he replied, "Seeing that mess last night, I realized that Cailan had gone to more trouble for his whores than I ever do for you."

Ellie turned her head sharply. "That's not true."

"It is. I'm still just a simple man, Ellie. I never learned how to court, not like others do. My father didn't really get to that part, living as we did, and I wasn't ever naturally good at it like Maric was. It's not an excuse, but I mean that it doesn't come easily to me."

"Does that mean you courting me now?" she asked with a mischievous smile.

Loghain kept his eyes forward, but the corner of his mouth pulled in a grin. "Maybe. Is it working?"

"Maybe." He turned and met her smile, then drew her gloved fingers up to his lips.

"Good. I am glad to hear it."


	17. Chapter 17

_I want to pause to offer continued thanks for all the wonderful reviews and commentary. I read each one and take them to heart. Thanks for sharing your time with me and I hope you're enjoying the ride. __Also many continued thanks to my patient and helpful beta reader, SurelyForth. __As always, Dragon Age and Loghain belong to BioWare. I should have warned readers about seventeen chapters ago that this story would contain spoilers for _The Stolen Throne_. Oops! You have probably figured that out by now. If you haven't read the book, I highly recommend it. If you have read it, it should be obvious that this story leans heavily on it and that I'm a big fan. -A._

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3 Guardian, 9:28 Dragon Age.

"Anya, thank you for coming." Loghain glanced up at the mage as she entered his palace study, removing wraps as she did so. Despite several years of service to a noble lady and her clothing allowance, she still looked like a dock matron. Since she didn't attend on Ellie in public much, it didn't make a great deal of difference. To Loghain it meant none at all. The fashion-minded wags could hang for all he cared, and Gareth had a way of ruining clothing, his own and that of his caregivers. Anya had saved him money.

The mage stopped before his desk and stood, shuffling awkwardly on her feet. It wasn't every day that she was called to the teyrn's office, and her nervousness brought on an unusual spate of politeness. "I am at your service, your lordship."

Without preamble, Loghain got to it. "I am sorry to tell you that we'll have to be without your service as of today. It has nothing to do with you, but unfortunately it bears on you."

Anya's ruddy face went pale. "Wha..wha... I don't understand..."

"It seems the court mage at South Reach got into an argument with the arl's chamberlain and killed him in quite gruesome and public fashion, wounding several bystanders in the process. The man has been sent to your Aeonar for execution, but as a result the Chantry is revoking retainer contracts. All court mages are to be sent back to the Circle Tower immediately. That includes you, I'm afraid." Before he had even finished speaking, a little sob escaped Anya's throat. It surprised Loghain so much that he looked up from the templar notice on his desk. Ellie's attendant had always seemed like she was made of stone. Rather prickly stone, but impassive nonetheless.

She could barely speak, managing only a strained whisper. "Don't let them take me, milord. Please. I would never hurt her ladyship, nor the little master neither. I love them both like they're my own. I wouldn't hurt no one. Please don't let them take me away."

Loghain sat back, startled at the urgency in Anya's voice. It was piteous to see the proud attendant, who normally would rather grumble a curse as look at him, so desperate. He had known that the mage was fond of his family, but had not realized how much. Ellie would be upset when she heard, too, and he hated to think of how Gareth would react to losing his beloved Na-Na. For that reason Loghain had arranged the meeting at the palace, where they were less likely to be interrupted by either his wife or child. Like it or not, however, the matter was out of his hands. "I'm sorry, Anya. They have a report about you, about the men you killed on the street some time ago. The templars made special mention of it, so they aren't going to make an exception. Not even the crown is allowed to retain a court mage any longer."

"I was protecting her ladyship's life that night, Teyrn Loghain. I helped her again after the poppet was born. I never asked no thanks for it. You can't do this. It isn't right."

"Anya, I am grateful for what you did for Elissa. Of course I am. If it were in my power, I would keep you on, but it isn't. The templars are waiting for you downstairs now. I'll see if they won't take you by the residence to collect your things and say your farewells. That much ought to be..." Loghain stopped as he saw the mage getting down on her knees. She had difficulty doing it, her joints always sore from what Ellie had said was likely lyrium poisoning. Tears had begun to course down the woman's cheeks.

"Please, your grace. I'm begging you, and it isn't in me to do that for no one. If there's anyone in Ferelden who can make 'em listen, that man is you. Don't tell me it isn't so, 'cause that's bollocks. It's bollocks." Anya stopped, throat hitching with sobs.

Loghain expelled a breath. He held the woman's gaze for a long moment, and though her eyes were spilling with tears, she never wavered under his scrutiny. That in itself was unusual. Finally he leaned forward on his elbows, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Alright. Alright. Get up, would you? I'll talk to them, but that is all I can promise. I'm not the Grand Cleric's favorite person, either."

"Thank you, your grace. I thank you." Anya stood, tottering, but then folded her hands and stood rooted. "Go talk to 'em now. I'll wait here." As Loghain opened his mouth to object, she shook her head. "I'm not leaving this room, lordship. They'll take me if I do. You go talk to 'em and I'll be right here when you're done."

The audacity was impressive. Loghain stared at her, and realized that since she had more experience with templars, she might very well be right. With an exasperated sigh he stood, opened his study door and called in Alun Marwell. Loghain had transferred the stocky royal guardsmen to his own personal detail after Alun had stood watch for him at his father's grave. The teyrn gestured towards Anya. "Stay with her, please, Alun. She doesn't leave this room and no one else comes in until I return. Not the templars, not the bloody twice-plugged Maker himself, is that clear?" Alun nodded understanding, and Loghain glanced at Anya to see if she would approve. She bowed her head, stepped back and took a seat, still shaking visibly.

Loghain spent the entire afternoon chasing down one Chantry luminary after another. The templars were just footmen and could do nothing of their own accord. He was directed to the cathedral in the market district to meet with the Knight Commander, who also could do nothing and sent him on to him see the Grand Cleric. She was at her prayers, so her assistant told him, and those took a very long time. Loghain waited in the anteroom, grumbling to himself and trying to work out just what he was supposed to say. Groveling at the unpleasant woman's door was not his idea of a good day. There was no doubt in Loghain's mind that she was being especially pious in her devotions that afternoon because he had put her off so many times himself.

In the end it was Mother Ailis who secured Anya's place. The priestess had helped to raise Loghain after his mother's death, living with and ministering to the outcasts in Gareth Mac Tir's camp. After the war, Loghain found her again, and she served Maric in the palace until her death. In that capacity, Mother Ailis spoke on behalf of a number of Chantry sisters who otherwise would have been forced out of the country after the rebellion. Many clergy had gone along with the usurpers, whether out of obligation or willingly, and these were seen as collaborators. The woman who was later to become Grand Cleric of Ferelden was then known as Sister Sabine of the Gwaren Chantry, the daughter of an Orlesian nobleman and his Fereldan servant. Gwaren had suffered a great deal under the usurpers and was one of those areas of Ferelden most infected with revolutionary spirit, so the populace there did not take well to a sister with an Orlesian pedigree. With Mother Ailis' help, Sabine avoided being sent to Val Royeux or some obscure monastery, instead landing a coveted spot in the Denerim cathedral.

Loghain had had nothing to do with the move, but he hoped that the Maker might forgive a little truth-twisting along with his blasphemy earlier that afternoon. The Grand Cleric knew that he and Mother Ailis were close, and at the time the Gwaren sister was transferred, Loghain had just assumed the title of Teyrn there. It was easy to feed her a story that he had had a hand in her appointment and was now calling in a favor these many years later. Knowing that Anya would settle for no less, Loghain waited while the Grand Cleric drew up a letter rescinding the mage's recall to the Tower, and signed it in front of witnesses.

He had this letter in hand when he returned. It was past dark and the lamps were burning in his study, Anya pacing in a corner while Captain Marwell sat nearby with his sword on his knees. Loghain nodded to Alun, crossed over to the mage and handed her the letter. She held it in trembling hands, reading it over and over as though looking for the loophole.

After some minutes of this, Loghain spoke up, impatient to have the matter settled. "It's rather final. Keep it somewhere safe. You should go now, Anya, Gareth will be asking for you. Tell Ellie I will be along soon."

The mage looked up at him with reddened eyes. After a moment's silence she lifted two fingers and made a sign on her forehead. "I'll pay this back to you tenfold someday, your lordship. I'll pay back your kindness, you'll see."

He waved her off. "You already have done, you said so yourself. You saved my Ellie's life, didn't you? Off with you now, I have some things to do."

Anya made to leave, but at the door she turned back. "I'll pay you back, Teyrn Loghain, you'll see that I will. An Amell always keeps her promises." She smiled and nodded once, turning to go.

Loghain gave Alun his leave, as well, and took up his reports. The amount of paperwork on his desk should have slackened after he gave up the position of high councillor, but as fast as he delegated responsibilities to Anora, she created new bureaucratic mud for him to wade through. The crown's affairs were more organized, and they had increased efficiency and revenue as a result, but it meant there was no end to the paper that crossed his desk. If he was late with the reports, he would hear about it.

It was the dinner hour, but as neither Cailan nor Anora were in the main dining room, Loghain sought out his daughter in her chambers. Before he even saw her, he knew something was wrong. There was the smell of burnt fabric. Anora was in her private chamber, her elf attendant at her side. The remains of a dinner were strewn across the table and onto the floor. The burning smell was from a candle that had obviously caught the tablecloth and burned a spot before being doused.

"Anora? What in the Maker's name is going on here?" Loghain crossed to her, jostling Erlina aside as he took his daughter's arm, turning her. His breath caught as he saw her face. Anora's hair was disheveled and there were tears in her eyes, but what stunned him the most was the red welt across her cheek. "Andraste's blood," he gasped, reaching up brush the hair back from the mark.

Her voice sounded small, smaller than he had ever heard it. "Father. It's nothing. I'm fine."

"Cailan did this?" The realization dawned on him like a lightning strike, but even though he knew it was true, he still couldn't believe it. The elf maid stepped back, averting her eyes.

Anora didn't try to deny it, though her tone grew alarmed as she saw his face color purple with rage. "Father, no. Don't."

"I'll kill him. I swear, I'll tear the flesh from his bones."

She shook her head, tone desperate. "You mustn't. Ferelden is all that matters, you know that. No, listen to me." She grabbed for Loghain's arm as he was about to pace away. "All that matters is that he keeps letting me rule his kingdom. Let him rage at me if he likes, as long as at the end of the day I still rule. We argued and it got out of hand, that's all."

Loghain felt the dark closing in on him, as though the lamps were dimming. His own voice sounded far away. "Anora, does he force you? Does he ever hurt you?"

Shaking her head, the queen straightened and with an effort resumed some of her normal composure, resting a hand on her waist. "Nothing like that, no. This was the first time he's behaved like this." She tried to laugh, though it was bitter. "I didn't know he had it in him."

"I did." Loghain's head drooped, his eyes pressed closed. They were caught, all of them. The Landsmeet wouldn't unseat a king for doing something that the more caddish among them did regularly when they were in their cups. After the affair with the brothel, Cailan had even been more careful with his dalliances. His father-in-law he could ignore, but when Eamon or Bryce whispered something to him, the king listened, and Loghain guessed that one or both of them had reproved him in private. There were mistresses, but no one of any account and Cailan saw them only quietly in the palace. There had to be a real threat or negligence in his rule for there to be a case against him in the Landsmeet. So long as Anora had the reins, there wasn't likely to be either of those things.

His utter powerlessness lit a fury in Loghain that it took all of his self-mastery to control. That he had even come to the point of hoping to see Maric's son unseated felt like a knife at his own heart. _Keep him close and he will betray you..._ Desperately he pushed the witch's words back into the recess where he kept them. Only when Loghain felt Anora's hand on his arm did the blackness recede a little. Her voice was steady once again. "It's not your fault, Father. If you hadn't chosen this for me, I still would have wanted it. I still want it more than anything. It will all be alright, you'll see."

Loghain felt sadness weighing on him. It was a shame to him that his daughter thought she had to reassure him rather than the other way around. "Anora," he muttered helplessly, shaking his head. Somehow, he had to find something to say that it would make it all mean something, for both of them. Mastering himself, he met her gaze and spoke firmly. "Be the queen you were meant to be. That will be your revenge."

She nodded, understanding perfectly.

Cailan had obviously not warned his guard to prevent Loghain from entering. That was a mistake he recognized the minute he saw his father-in-law. The king jumped up from his chair but was off balance when the blow caught him across the chin. Stumbling backward, he had not yet found his balance when another snapped his head back again, sending a spray of blood across his the bed behind him. Cailan braced against the bedpost, holding out a defensive hand to ward off another.

Loghain spoke low, in an oath. "I swear by the Maker, that is the last time you raise a hand to my daughter."

Blood dripped from Cailan's nose and lip onto the carpet. Slowly he turned his head, fingering gently at his bloody nose and the gash at his cheek. His voice was thick. "I deserved that. But no more, Loghain, or I call my guard."

Loghain grasped the cuff of Cailan's tunic and hauled him up, shoving him against the wall and pinning him there. Glowering with contempt, he spat out, "Don't hide behind your guard, you arrogant little fuck. Fight me yourself if you're so eager to hit someone."

Barely able to breathe, Cailan had to choke out his words. "This is treason."

"You'd have to be a king for that to be true, wouldn't you? You're not even a man." With a shove, Loghain let him go and Cailan slid out from his grasp, putting distance between them and finally slumping into a chair. Following his movement, the teyrn's voice seethed. "You're not your mother's son. Nor Maric's, either. I don't know what you are."

"Don't you talk about my mother. Not you." Cailan glowered at him, touching a hand to his nose to try to stop the flow of blood.

Loghain was about to say something about Rowan, about what the warrior queen would have done to a man who went whoring about or struck her, but a realization came and instead he pointed an accusing finger. "You're an Orlesian, that's what you are. You use women, you use power and title just like they did. If I didn't know better I'd swear you were that lying elven woman's son and not Rowan's."

Cailan did not meet his gaze for long, and he didn't object about his mother any longer. After a silence he asked softly, "How is Anora?"

"How do you think she is? Trying to forgive you, though only the Maker knows why." When Cailan only nodded, head bowed, Loghain turned and paced away, lifting a hand to the back of his head. After a moment he let it fall again and spoke over his shoulder. "Never again, Cailan. You are Maric's blood and I am sworn to serve you, but never again." When there was no answer, Loghain left without looking back.

He walked quickly, putting the palace behind him not returning any of the greetings of passers-by while he fought to calm himself. His anger still boiled, but his mind was also working. At home, Ellie met him at the door and embraced him, kissing his cheek fervently. "Anya told me everything. Loghain, I don't know how to thank you."

"It was nothing." His voice was ragged. He could protect a mage servant, but not his own daughter, so it truly did mean little to him. Yet if keeping Anya in their service had made Ellie and Gareth happy, he had at least been good for something that day.

"Loghain, are you alright?"

He hesitated before answering. "I have to go away for a while."

"Now? In winter?"

"Soon." Ellie regarded him curiously, however his wife had developed a sense for when he wasn't going to talk about something, and finally she nodded. With an effort Loghain smiled a little and leaned down to put an arm around her waist, kissing her lightly.

"Da-da!" Gareth's shout was followed by the boy himself, launching across the room towards his father.

Loghain broke off the kiss, grinned and caught his son up into his arms. "There's my little lieutenant. Were you good for your mother today?" The two year-old smiled impishly and nodded. He never answered that question any other way. "I am glad to hear it. And did you eat up all the dinner? Your old da is famished."

"Come late to supper then complain about the pot being dry." Anya appeared in the doorway and stood leaning against it, a little smile on her face.

The two exchanged a look, sizing up how matters stood with the other, and finally Loghain chuckled. "I am a humble beggar, ser mage. If you can scrape together a crust or two, I'll content myself with that."

He could feel Ellie's eyes on him that night while he ate and as they saw Gareth off to bed, but she did not press him further, not even while she helped to bandage his bruised hand. Nor did she make any objection when he bid her goodnight and went to his own chambers. Loghain lay awake late into the night, waiting for a knock on the door, for some of his own men with orders to take him to Fort Drakon. There was no visit by the royal guard, however, not on that night nor the next day or the following. Both Cailan and Anora cancelled their public engagements for the week, blaming the sniffles that were making the rounds of the court.

Cailan and Anora were troubled by other things, but there was indeed a cold passing around the palace and Gareth had his turn with it. For several days he coughed and slept ill, and Loghain delayed his journey long enough to see him somewhat better. On the morning he was to leave, he and Ellie decided that the boy was still too ill for an outing, so they made their farewells at the residence. Loghain wore a black doublet, hose and boots, and had his cloak slung loosely over one shoulder. He would arm himself at the palace where he would have a squire to help him.

As the doorway Ellie kissed him, then prompted Gareth to tell his father goodbye. The toddler gazed up at Loghain but made no move to do so. He was used to his father's absences and normally took them in stride, nevertheless sleepy and sick as he was, this one apparently was a bridge too far. The two year-old's lip quivered. Finally he shouted in ever increasing volume, "No no no no no NO!" Ellie leaned down to calm him, but he batted her hand away, turned and ran further into the house.

Loghain exchanged a look with Ellie, drew a deep breath and followed. He found Gareth lying face-down and still on the carpet in Ellie's room, small arms flung up to cover his head. Kneeling down on one knee, Loghain laid a hand on the boy's back. He was silent some moments, trying to work out to say. Ellie had followed and stood in the doorway watching.

He spoke softly. "I don't want to go away, my boy, but we can't always do what we like. Sometimes we have to do what we must. We have to do our duty, all of us. Your duty is to stay here and mind your mother and Anya and the other maids." When there was no reaction, Loghain went on, "I always miss you and your mother when I'm gone. I think about you all the time, every day. I try to get home as fast as I can."

After a moment the little figure under his hand stirred. One foot kicked. Finally Gareth sat up and turned, bracing on Loghain's knee and turning reddened eyes up to him. "Take me."

"No, I'm sorry, lad. I can't take you with me. We'll go on a trip together sometime, I promise."

Gareth sniffled, however the reality of the thing apparently had settled in and there was no more shouting. He frowned, looking much like his father as his brow knit. "You come home fast, da-da. _Fast_." It was obviously an order.

Loghain laughed and reached up a hand to brush hair back from the boy's brow. "I'll do that. I promise."

Gareth considered this, then jumped up and ran to the toy box in the corner and began to root in it. Loghain glanced at Ellie. She shrugged, apparently as much in the dark on the ways of Gareth as he was. When the boy returned, he had a wooden horse in hand. He owned many of these, gifts from Bryce and Eleanor, finely carved and painted with knights and squires to ride them, with more figures of foot-soldiers and mabari besides. Some had the banner of Highever, others Gwaren, others plain. Father and son would play with them together on occasion, Loghain showing him how to line them up, Gareth always impatient to get to the part where he could crash the mabari into the nicely ordered ranks to break a cavalry charge. He had thoughtfully chosen a horse and rider with Gwaren crest to present to his father.

"Is this for me?" Loghain asked, surprised.

"This is me, da-da," he replied, pushing the toy into his father's hand and pointing at the figure on the horse with a pudgy finger. "You take it with you."

Loghain thought he understood then. He was to take the figure instead, since he could not take Gareth himself. There was a catch in his throat as he nodded. "Alright. I'll do that. I'll have this right in my pocket the whole time. Thank you, son."

Glancing at the Gwaren crest on the figure, Loghain made a decision on something that Ellie had suggested but he had waved off earlier. It had not really been fair of him not to consider it. In the course of his duties he came and went, but since their arrival Ellie had not left Denerim, and the court could be a confining place. It was also time that little Gareth got his first look at his future teyrnir. Loghain gestured with the wooden figure. "When I come back, Gareth, you and mamma and I will take a trip together, how does that sound? We'll go to Gwaren, all three of us. Would you like that?" He glanced at Ellie and she smiled, nodding her approval.

"Yes!" Gareth beamed, also in favor. After a moment he began to scale his father's knee, and Loghain sat back to take him into his lap. The boy kept climbing up his chest until he could put his arms around his father's neck and lay his head on one shoulder.

Loghain held his son, rubbing his back and bringing a hand up to stroke his hair. His eyes were wet. "You know I love you very much, don't you, my boy. I don't tell you often, but you know, don't you?" As he said this, Loghain looked past Gareth's shoulder to Ellie, gazing at her steadily, including her in the words.

Gareth's reply came in the form of a muffled giggle. He, too, was a man of few words.

* * *

27 Guardian, 9:28 Dragon Age. Tewellyn Cloister, near Redcliffe.

Loghain leaned against the edge of the gallery rail, looking out over into a practice yard filled with boys of different ages, all squawking and hollering. A few of them batted practice swords, but as the arms master had not yet arrived, most were simply loitering or crouched down tossing jacks on the snow.

"That's the one you asked after, your grace." The templar, Ser Leffert, pointed out a sandy-haired boy. "That's Alistair of Redcliffe."

The teyrn watched the young lad as he walked along the row of pillars, hands wrapped up in his tunic against the cold. Some of his fellows spoke to him as he passed, but mostly he kept apart from the others. Even from a distance, the boy's easy, laconic gate, the tilt of his head as he stopped to lean up against one of the pillars, was eerily familiar. "How does he fare? What sort of novice does he make?"

Leffert squinted, considering. "Passing fair with the sword or with the sisters' lessons, though nothing to shout about. Got a smart mouth on him. The real problem with that one is that he won't really put his hand to anything. What did the Revered Mother call it... she said that he doesn't apply himself. But he _will_ apply glue to the sister's chair on occasion."

Loghain shot the man a sideways glance. "A bit wild, eh? What about tantrums? Moody spells?"

"Oh yes, your grace, that to be sure," the man nodded. "Nothing too ill-natured I'd say, but some of the sisters do complain. Even his patron got sick of it. The arl hasn't been to see him in years." Pausing, the templar then went on, "I know others like him, Teyrn Loghain, and there's no remedy for it. He's just some nobleman's bastard who thinks he's too high and mighty to act decently and do what's expected of him. If you're looking for a squire, I'd look elsewhere, though I don't know why you want a templar acolyte anyway. The Revered Mother wouldn't like it."

"Nothing like that." Easing back from the railing, Loghain watched the boy silently. So this one had Maric's faults, too, and a good dose by the sounds. Far from being upset by this, he was relieved. He had no desire to put his daughter's status as queen in jeopardy and tarnish Rowan's legacy all in one stroke. If Cailan wasn't already on his way to doing just that, he would never have considered it. If by some turn of fate the bastard was of different mettle than Cailan, however, duty would demand that Loghain ponder the unthinkable. As Anora had said, Ferelden was all that mattered, though she would not approve of her father's visit if she knew. Nor would Maric. The late king had been adamant that the boy be left alone unless there was no other choice, and yet here Loghain was, doing exactly what he had promised not to do, pondering Cailan's ruin. _Keep him close..._

His thoughts were interrupted by the templar. "Shall I call Alistair in, your grace? Would you like to speak with him?"

Loghain regarded the boy again. He was tempted. If nothing else, this was a little bit of his friend, a friend that he sorely missed. Before he could answer, the boy moved from his pillar and turned, perhaps feeling eyes on him. He looked up at the two men, cocked his head and regarded Loghain as though trying to see if he could recognize him. He at first looked hopeful, as though Loghain might be someone else. When Alistair saw that he didn't know the visitor after all, he quickly turned away again, moving off further into the yard. "No," Loghain answered, shaking his head. "No, that won't be necessary. I thank you for your information."

"No trouble at all, Teyrn Loghain. It's an honor to have a great man like yourself at our monastery. As for the bastard, he'll come around. Has no choice, really. A boy like that has got nowhere else to go if his noble father won't have him. The Maker wills it, as he does for all of us."

Loghain's only reply was grim silence. Apparently the Maker's will had included Rowan dying of a mysterious disease no one could cure, Maric vanishing into the sea, and their fool of a son growing more useless and headstrong by the day. The teyrn did not to put too much store in the Maker's will. If you wanted something done, it was best to grasp the matter yourself and let the Maker try to keep up. He and Anora would have to continue managing as best they could, even if it felt like holding back the ocean tide.

He stirred, thoughts of Anora reminding him that perhaps it need not be a wasted trip. The monastery was remote and had been a chore to find, but it was reported to have a good library and scriptorium. He pulled a crumpled, worn sheet of paper from his cloak pocket and showed it to the templar. It was the broadsheet he had picked up in the Bannorn a year earlier, condemning the ascension of a "commoner" to role of queen. Though the Chantry controlled most of the printing and always had, no one had been able to reveal anything useful about its source. Loghain did not know if they really didn't know or if they were covering up. The Chantry was close about its secrets, even the dirty ones. _Especially_ the dirty ones. "Can you tell me anything about this, Ser Leffert? Perhaps something from the script?"

The templar unfolded the tract and read it quickly, snorting in disgust as he took in the subject matter. Loghain waited while Leffert squinted to examine the page more closely, turning towards the weak sunlight and lifting it up to see the script better. Finally he lowered the sheet and appeared to consider for a moment before answering. "I believe I can tell you something about this, your grace. But it would be better for me to show you."

Loghain's eyes lit up with the hard, expectant glint of a hunter on the trace. "Show me."


	18. Chapter 18

16 Bloomingtide, 9:28 Dragon Age.

Loghain was on the stair, climbing up from the ship's hold, when he heard Ellie shout down from the deck. "Maker's breath! Loghain, come look."

It had been a miserable journey, but thankfully short. He had wanted to risk the longer, overland journey through the Brecilian Passage, but the mother of his two year-old overrurled him. The longer trip on horseback would be more difficult with a small child. They booked passage on a cutter, bouncy but swift, hoping to make the trip from Denerim to Gwaren in as short a time as possible. For Loghain the trip could not end soon enough. Fitful sleep managed to keep away any dreams of Maric in the sea. The specter was never far away, however. Gareth had been thrilled about the ship, only fretting on the second day when seasickness made him dizzy. By the end of the journey, he was a favorite with the crew and the feeling was mutual. Loghain could only grimace when the sailors joked about the young Mac Tir being a born seaman.

Ellie stood at the rail, holding Gareth on one hip, and when Loghain emerged she pointed towards the shore. Gwaren quay was lined with people.

"What is this? What are they all doing here?"

Loghain smiled wryly. "They aren't making such a fuss over you or me, Ellie, that's for sure. They must have heard we have a more important person on board."

It was late afternoon on a high market day and the town was full of people. With the festival air and relative idleness, marketgoers done with their business had decided to come down to the quay to greet the little teyrn. It was not a surprise to Loghain. Judging by the correspondence from Gwaren, he had already guessed that people were keenly interested in the new heir. Even though Gwaren folk rarely took notice of the doings of nobles, it was still news that the teyrnir would likely remain in Mac Tir hands. They knew that this child belonged to them in a way that Anora never had.

Loghain's guard cleared a pathway and the family disembarked after them, Cutha following along at their heels. The Gwaren residents seemed in high spirits; some of them aided by actual spirits, Loghain guessed. Gareth began to get alarmed at the hands reaching out to touch him, especially as he heard Cutha snapping and growling at those who got too close. When Ellie moved to hand the boy to Loghain, Gareth clung to her, afraid that she was going to put him down in the midst of the sea of bodies. Only when he had passed safely to his father's arms and saw that his parents were still relaxed, greeting people, did Gareth also begin to look around from Loghain's arms with more detached interest. He delighted a group of women by reaching out to grab a sweet offered to him. The two year-old's expression remained dubious, and it was left to his father to thank the women and move on.

With all the crowds clogging Gwaren's small streets, it was a slow walk up from the port. At the estate, the gate guards turned back any hangers-on, and the family then passed along the line of household staff who had turned out in the courtyard to greet them. Harel, Loghain's elderly elven valet, was last in the line, holding his hat and grinning toothlessly as he bowed.

It was the dinner hour and food was already laid out. As the family and Anya were finishing their meal, Harel presented himself to report that all their luggage had been brought up from the quay

Ellie stopped the elf as he was about to leave. "Tell me how you came to work for my husband. I never did hear the story."

Harel shuffled on his feet and looked at Loghain, who nodded for the valet to go ahead. The elf only stuttered "mistress", however, and worked his jaws, saying nothing more.

Loghain smiled. "Harel's not much of a talker. He was a Night Elf once, weren't you, old boy?"

"A Night Elf!" Ellie sat up, surprised.

The servant looked embarrassed, a blush creeping up his splotched neck. His voice was raspy. "Aye, mistress."

Loghain picked up the story. "He was a camp follower, first for the rebel queen and then for Maric after her death. We had few horses, but Harel helped tend the mounts and worked saddles. I was often out on scouting and would come in late at night. Just like in my father's camp, elves were often given the night watch because their eyesight is better at night than humans'. Seeing them when I came in gave me the idea to take some of them with me on scouting missions and raids. We were barely scraping by in those early days. Without the raids, our people would have starved and had no arms. It was desperation, but the elven raiders were so effective that it soon became something more. They were not only keen sighted, they could move silently, and with some training they became deadly killers as well."

"I remember the stories," Ellie nodded. "The Orlesians were terrified of elves coming out of the night." She smiled and turned to Harel. "And that was you? It must have been hard to go back to life as a servant."

Loghain's voice took on a defensive edge. "With the peace came new priorities. The nobility would not have put up with armed elves. Harel could have served with the royal army, but he chose to work in my stables. I did not choose it for him."

"It's better, mistress," Harel rasped, though he would not elaborate. He glanced at Loghain helplessly.

"You can go," the teyrn nodded.

Ellie looked after him and shook her head, whispering, "Somehow I can't imagine Harel as a terror of the night."

Loghain nodded, smiling briefly. "People aren't always what they seem to be. Even the warrior must grow old someday."

Anya had been listening intently all the while, but only spoke up then, saying, "Begging your pardon, ladyship, but I think the poppet has had enough of chatter." Gareth was indeed weaving in circles on his high chair, dangerously close to drooping forward into what remained of his mash.

"The poppet is not the only one." Ellie stood up and took a cloth offered by the mage, wiping Gareth's face and hands and then gathering him up. "Anya, go call the housekeeper and ask her where they set up Gareth's bed."

Child in arms, she walked into the parlor and sat down near the fire. Loghain trailed after her, standing by the hearth with one hand on the mantle and regarding his family silently. It had been years since there was a child in this house. Now it seemed odd to him that Anora had ever been so small and helpless as Gareth was. Loghain had a perfect memory of Anora on the day she was born. It was the subsequent years that were a blur, as though the infant had one day instantly turned into the proud, headstrong woman who stood at the head of the country.

His thoughts were interrupted by the housekeeper, who informed them that a guest room had been turned into a child's bedroom for the young lord. Ellie thought a moment, then replied, "You have done well, Mrs. Gardiner, but I don't want Gareth to wake up in unfamiliar surroundings and be frightened. You must have a small trundle bed somewhere, yes? For now, set it up in Loghain's rooms. Gareth can sleep near us until he's used to this house. Please show Anya to her room, as well."

When they were alone, Loghain glanced again at his son. He had fallen asleep on his mother's chest, a chubby hand buried in her hair. "You baby the boy too much, Ellie."

"Psh. He _is_ a baby."

Loghain frowned. "Do you think he's growing up soft? He's been around crowds before in Denerim, but he was so timid earlier." When all he got in reply was an incredulous look, Loghain moved towards them, taking a seat next to his wife. "I'm responsible, Ellie. I know the boy is not yet three, but because of me he'll always have knives trained at his back. He can't be cowering under your skirts all the time."

"Mac Tir. He's two. Did you expect him to come out of the womb brandishing a sword? For all that, I certainly wouldn't worry about a child of _your_ blood growing up with less than an iron will. Or do you think Cousland blood so cheap that we will water it down?"

His mouth curved in a half-smile. "I know better than to say something like that."

"I should hope you do."

"Very well, Lady Cousland. You may put down your daggers."

In the process of being put to bed, Gareth woke up and demanded a story. Ellie sat on a cushion, leaning on the side of the low trundle bed, and told the story of the Alamarri chieftain for whom Cutha had gotten his name. The original Cutha fought the Tevinters and always managed to stay one step ahead of their magic and superior weapons by his wits, by knowledge of the land, and because of his clever dogs. Ellie knew better than to forget the hounds. If she did, Gareth would pipe up to ask about them.

Loghain moved quietly around the room while the tale unfolded, unpacking some of their things, but after a few minutes he stood and listened, his eyes on Ellie. Three years it had been since he wed her. In that very room, he sat in his nightclothes feeling like an idiot while she made small talk and they both tried to figure out how to be married to a stranger. She had turned her attention to the shield over the hearth, asking about the wyvern, remarking on it and on the high dragon seen on the day of the Battle of River Dane_. Dragons seem to follow you..._

Loghain didn't realize that he'd been staring at the wyvern until he heard Ellie approaching. "A copper for your thoughts."

He gestured distractedly. "It's nothing." She moved past him and Loghain turned back to look into the fire. It was some minutes later when he glanced over and saw Ellie sitting in a chair, head resting back and a tear sliding down her cheek. "What is troubling you, Ellie?"

Her voice was distant. "Somehow I thought it would be different."

"What are you talking about?"

Ellie swallowed before replying and rubbed at her cheek in a defiant gesture. "You. Us." She turned her gaze towards him. "Do you remember our first night here? I'm not sure what I was thinking, but I was so afraid of you. Afraid it would be a disaster. Then you weren't at all what I expected and after a while it seemed like it was going to be wonderful. But now..."

Loghain shook his head, wanting to curb this discussion before it really got going. "You're tired, Ellie. Go to bed. Or I'll call for a bath, if you prefer."

She shook her head firmly. "No. Not this time. For three years I've let you shut me out and push me away. At first it was because I thought it was just your habit and I should leave you alone and be there waiting when you decided to show up again. It's worse since Gareth was born, though. Now I think it is because you don't respect me. I'm your bedmate, sometimes your company, but not really your wife."

She was trying to fight the tears, but a few more slipped out. Normally the sight would have made Loghain feel desperate to comfort her, but instead it made him angry. So much for a happy homecoming to Gwaren. "You're talking rot, woman, but go on if it makes you feel better. You must have a few more complaints about me stored up. I suppose I smell bad and steal your covers at night, too."

"I might better talk to Cutha. He listens to me, at least."

Loghain snorted and turned back away, pacing towards the mantle and bracing on it with both hands, looking down into the fire. There was a silence filled by the sounds of Gareth softly snoring, the fire's crackle and Ellie sniffling. As the anger coursed through him, it brought with it flashes of memory, of Celia crying and saying similar things. His anger had been very hot then, keened on loss first of his family and then of Rowan. By the time he had married Celia, there were no more battles on which he could train it. Though he wouldn't admit it, there had been some satisfaction in hurting and being hurt by Celia. It gave him an excuse to nurse the anger, to let pride keep him from softening. He was not a young man anymore, however. Such games no longer seemed worth the price to play.

Drawing a deep breath, he spoke wearily. "All around me are vipers and cretins, or else good men whose careers and lives depend on me. I'm always fighting. Always. The enemies I can't see are the ones who worry me the most. If I come home and want a few moments of peace from it all, is that too much to ask?" Ellie didn't answer, so Loghain turned around and stepped over to face her, still keeping his distance. She avoided his gaze. Softening his tone, Loghain went on, "When I'm hunting, I can forget. I block out anything but the tracking and then the kill. I don't hunt often anymore, but when I come home and you talk about what Gareth did that day, I can forget, too. I do listen to you. Perhaps not as often as you'd like, but more often than you're giving me credit for."

Throat catching on the words, Ellie replied, "I know. That's not what I mean."

"What then?" Exasperation was pushing Loghain's patience again.

She sniffed and appeared to be thinking before she replied. "All you talk about is what you need, but I need things, too. I suppose because our marriage started with politics, I had this idea that I would be your ally. I didn't know we would love each other, but I always pictured doing important things for you and with you. But Cailan was right when he said I'm nothing. Because you never tell me anything you're doing, I wouldn't even know where to start to be an ally to you."

Loghain's head had come up at the king's name. "Cailan? When did he say that?"

Ellie gestured impatiently. "It doesn't matter."

Approaching her, Loghain slowly reached out a hand and lifted her chin with one finger. "How could you ever say you are nothing? You, of all people." He then let his hand fall. "Are you really so unhappy? Is being a mother so burdensome that you would rather be wallowing in political muck instead?"

"It just doesn't fit me." She stood, pacing, and cast a quick glance towards Gareth's sleeping form. "I love him more than my life, but I don't know where my place is. The wives of your officers can't relax around me. If Gareth is rough with one of their children, they punish them because they're afraid it might come back on their husbands. They're just as guarded with me. The noblewomen in Denerim are catty and spoiled. My only friends are servants, and it's not much of a friend who calls me 'her ladyship'. Anora might have been my friend, but she hates me. And my husband won't talk to me."

Her exaggerated statements served to pull back the curtain. It was the down side of their warm nature that both his wife and his son could sometimes turn to the dramatic. Recognizing this, Loghain softened his defenses. Coming up behind, he put a hand on her arm. "You're taking these things too hard. It isn't just that I want a break from politics at home. I want to spare you from its burdens. But if it's what you really want, I'll involve you more in court affairs. Or you can take more of the responsibilities of the teyrnir. You are popular here and well respected. The guildmasters and mayor like you better than me."

Ellie turned. "I would like that. But what I really want to know is..." She stopped, glanced over at the bed, and gestured to it. "Our first night together, that's the first time I had a notion that we might be able to love each other, but I also knew that I needed to earn your respect. You, a hero and a powerful man, and me so young with so little to account for myself. When you refuse to confide in me, I'm afraid that it's because you think I'm not worth your confidence. You think I am good for nothing but to share your bed and wipe our son's nose. And you don't even trust me with our son very much."

Amazed at how inaccurately she rated his esteem of her, Loghain reached a hand up to cup her cheek. "Elissa, wife, you have nothing to prove to me. I began to see what a capable woman you are from the first days you were under this roof. If you think that has diminished because you gave me a son, I call you a fool. A lovely fool, but a fool nonetheless." He smiled, and gradually she relaxed, though another tear slid down to wet his hand. Loghain leaned forward and kissed her, the hand sliding around to stroke her hair. After a few moments his mouth moved to her ear. "I would like to know what I did to deserve the two finest women in Ferelden being called by my name. The Maker surely is toying with me."

Ellie's voice was muffled in their embrace. "He's telling you not to be so damn proud." She slid back, regarding him. "You can start by telling me what you were thinking just now when you waved me off."

"I will tell you, but not tonight. I still feel like I am on that blasted ship and my head won't stop spinning."

Her eyes were still red-rimmed, but a mischievous smile replaced the frown. "And here I thought we might re-live the wedding night. Or have I ruined it?"

"After what you accused me of, I would not have suggested it myself, but if you are up to it then I wouldn't let a little dizziness stop me. My head was spinning on that first night, too, though for different reasons." Loghain returned her smile, and kissed her lightly, his arm still looped around her waist. Gesturing with his head behind them, he asked, "What about Gareth? I would rather not traumatize the boy if he wakes up to a demonstration of how he was made."

Ellie loosed herself, stepped over to the bed and released one of the canopy curtains. "That's what these are for."

Loghain grinned as he began to untie his tunic. "Ah. I do love a woman with a plan."

After breakfast the next morning, Loghain put a hand on Ellie's arm to stop her from getting up. "Anya, please take Gareth and get him dressed for our outing today. I have an important matter to discuss with the teyrna and I ask that we not be disturbed."

Ellie looked at Loghain expectantly. He waited until they were alone, then began, his eyes trained downward at his plate. "Last night you asked me what I was thinking about, and it was this. I didn't go to Redcliffe to see Eamon. I went to see Maric's son." He paused, glancing at Ellie and reading her confusion. "His other son. Maric had a bastard he never recognized. It isn't important. The boy is no more suited than Cailan to be king. However, that was not the only thing I learned while I was there..."

"Wait. Wait. Go back to that part about Maric, a bastard, and someone other than Cailan being king."

Briefly Loghain explained about Alistair and about his promise to Maric. "I never expected that an untrained bastard who was not even recognized could be suitable, but with Cailan getting worse every day I at least had to satisfy myself. Now that I've done so, I can keep my promise to Maric in peace."

"Maric had another son..." The idea was obviously taking a while to settle in. "So that is why he never took another queen. He had a secret lover, someone he would not or could not expose to court."

Loghain glanced at Ellie, uneasy at such a raw admission of the truth about his friend. He could not deny it, though he was eager to downplay it. "Nothing serious, surely. A moment of weakness after Rowan's death, enough to produce a child."

It took some time, but finally Ellie absorbed this. "Why were you thinking of this when you looked at your shield?"

"I wasn't. There is something else."

Loghain showed Ellie the flier he found in the Bannorn, and explained what the templar had shown in him in a recess of Tewellyn's library. Leffert had tried to back down on the way, and the sister attending the library also was unhappy about their visit, but Loghain could match even a Chantry sister glare for glare. Finally the templar had led him to a locked room. In the light of one dim lamp, Leffert laid out books, pamphlets and artwork that had been collected from various parts of Ferelden. The earliest of them predated the end of the revolution. Some were gibberish, apparently written in code and illustrated with fantastic, macabre drawings.

Leffert explained some of the symbolism, and then Loghain understood why he had recognized the tract from the Bannorn as belonging to this collection. At the upper corner of the tract was a small dragon, something Loghain had assumed was a place marker for the date. Printers would often use such a symbol to represent the Dragon Age. The same dragon symbol was on all these books and pamphlets, however. In one of the books Leffert showed him, a woodcut depicted a mabari hound being pinned under the claw of a dragon.

"The dragon is Orlais, your grace," Leffert told him. "You can guess what the hound is meant to show. These people believe that the dragon of River Dane actually was a portent of the ultimate triumph of Orlais over lesser nations and that your battle was just a test of faith. They believe Orlais to be a holy nation, not only because the Chantry is seated there, but because Orlesian society mirrors the hierarchy of Blessed Aroeus." Loghain had needed a refresher on that name, and Leffert explained that he was an early scholar who worshiped the Maker even before Andraste's coming. His writings detailed a strict hierarchy of all beings, with the Maker at the pinnacle, the clergy next to him in glory and responsibility, and those of the oldest noble stock just under them. Somewhere in the lower echelons were commoners and the unenlightened races. Where spirits and demons fit into the picture, he was less clear.

"That is why they despise Anora so much," Loghain explained to Ellie, gesturing at the tract that lay on the breakfast table in Gwaren. His voice was bitter. "She's a commoner in their eyes, and the daughter of the Fereldan dog that cast Orlais from this country, and yet she makes no apology about ruling."

Ellie's brow knit. "Who are 'they'? Who are these people?"

"Leffert didn't know. He claims that no one knows, that they are secretive and likely spread throughout the country. Some of the books he showed me were scholarly works, so it's likely some of them are nobles and clergy, but there are others obviously written by commoners. They are all marked with this symbol, however." He indicated the small dragon at the top corner of the page.

"That's why you were thinking about this when you saw the wyvern." Ellie's eyes were fixed on him, and remained so as Loghain rose, pacing slowly in the sun of the morning room.

After some moments silence, he went on. "One of their books claims that Orlais will regain Ferelden after a Blight lays us waste. It's how they gained control of Nevarra's southwestern flank, which is likely where they got the idea."

"A Blight? Here?"

Loghain nodded. His breakfast was sitting heavily in his stomach, though he knew it was not the grease from the fried bread that was making him feel ill. To reveal the witch's prophecy was a real test of his agreement to open his mind more to his wife. He had never spoken of it to anyone but Maric, and even then he had fought to avoid the topic. For all Loghain knew, the witch had fed the same crazy nonsense to others that she had to Maric.

Quietly he continued, "It's not the first time I've heard someone predict a Blight here. It's alarmist raving, of course. I just happened to think of it because when you saw my shield, you said that dragons follow me. The history books claim that Blights are led by a dragon."

"But I didn't mean anything by that. I was just nervous on our wedding night and was babbling to relieve it."

"I know." Loghain turned back to her. "Pay no mind to that drivel. What is important is that there are agents of Orlais among us, Fereldans, who are caught up in this apocalyptic lunacy. It's no surprise really. It took a long time to root out elements of the Orlesian loyalists after the war, and Maric took a gentler stand on them than I liked. All they really did was go underground. Occasionally they still surface. They plotted through the Circle of Magi once. They're probably using other front agencies like the Antivan Crows or the Grey Wardens. There were assassination attempts on Maric a few times, on me as well." He paused. "Also on your father. Did he ever tell you?"

Ellie's head shot up. "My father? Maker's breath, no!"

"Ah. It was when you were a small girl and likely he did not want to worry you. A servant. He apparently was careless and the other staff discovered the plot before it could be carried out." Loghain paused, reflecting bitterly on the fact that Bryce was now repaying the Orlesians for such sweet gestures by fattening their coffers and offering them inroads into Ferelden. If Ellie wanted more candor, Loghain would give it to her, but best to leave that topic for another day. "They haven't tried anything that dramatic in many years. It is not a good sign if they are working in public again. They might be lunatics, but they obviously sense unrest and are trying to stir up religious fervor amongst the commoners and envy in the nobles." Loghain glanced over at the sound of Gareth running through the foyer, Anya following and calling for him to slow down. In truth, Anora was not the only one he worried for, but he would not say so to Ellie. There were still things he would never talk to her about, no matter how many tears she shed about his reticence.

Ellie's words brought him back. "Doesn't anyone know who these people are? They can't all hide if they are publishing books and pamphlets."

"The templar could only tell me that there appears to be a concentration around Redcliffe, which is why Tewellyn's library ended up with a lot of the books from this 'dragon society.' I went to ask Eamon about it after I left the monastery, but he denies knowing any more about it than I do." Loghain snorted. "He and that haughty wife of his. Eamon can pretend to be innocent, and she looks too dim to be a bard, though it is their trade to appear other than they are. I don't trust either of them. I only wish Cailan didn't bend so much to Eamon's whispering."

"Didn't you say that Empress Celene writes to you sometimes? What would she say about this?"

Loghain waved a hand. "Deny any knowledge, of course. Lie. What do you expect? She's not only aware of it, I'm sure that she supports them secretly. Though Leffert claims that she's not exactly popular with this organization, either. She's too soft minded for their tastes." He uttered a harsh laugh. "One of the pamphlets even complained that she's not dotty enough. Apparently they think the crazy inbred bastards who ruled before her showed 'marks of the divine.' That's what they call insanity."

Ellie was silent some moments, a finger brushing thoughtfully across her lip. Finally she spoke up in a quiet voice. "Are we in any danger? You?"

He took a breath. She had come upon that idea without any help from him. "Little. Even if they are just a few radicals, I must take them seriously." Loghain stepped over to the table, leaning on it and staring intently into his wife's face. "I would never let anyone hurt you or Gareth. I promise you."

Smiling, Ellie reached out to cover one of his hands with hers. "I know. I'm glad you told me. I will know to be more careful with my trust."

Loghain nodded, but he didn't expect that her promise would amount to much. It was not in Ellie's nature to be jaded towards people. Even when she complained about catty nobles, she still wanted their approval, still sought out their company. She was wrong about how people viewed her. It was Elissa's strength and her weakness that she called so many people friend and invited a trust that she then reciprocated. He would have to be twice as vigilant on her behalf.

They took Gareth out for a walk through the town. High market day had passed, but there were still a few stalls out. While Loghain was waiting for Ellie to conclude negotiations on a new set of dwarven armor, he was surprised to realize that Anya was standing at his elbow. Normally the mage kept her distance from him. "Yes?" he asked, voice clipped. "What is it?"

"Begging your pardon, lordship, but I couldn't help but hear what you said about the elves last night. How you saw what they were good for in the war. Like tools you can put away again when you're done with them."

Loghain kept his voice light. "You think I use people, do you, mage? I command armies. It is my duty to see where a man can be useful and to put him there, even if that means his death. I don't enjoy that. If I fail in that duty, however, we all suffer."

"All well and good, your lordship," Anya replied mildly. "But you didn't do that with me."

His eyes narrowed. "What are you trying to suggest? If you have a complaint about your service..."

"I have no complaints, ser. But when the Teyrn Cousland first asked me to stay with her ladyship, you got your britches in a bunch. When the templars were going to haul me off, you weren't going to do nowt about it until I begged you to."

"I gather you have a point, Anya. I suggest you make it. I dislike word games."

Anya's color was high. She apparently realized that she was on thin ice, but she nodded once. "It's just this, your lordship. I heard what you did for those elves, but you don't see what mages can do. You ought to, that's all. You don't need to see us as people, but you said yourself it's your duty to see where we're useful."

Loghain turned to face her. "What is it you want? Speak plainly. Maybe you are hoping I might be able to do something to help your fellows in the Circle? It doesn't work that way, Anya, and you know that as well as I do. I couldn't keep the Night Elves going and there's little I can do for the Circle, even if I wanted to."

"Not now," Anya nodded, agreeing. "Might be someday you will, though." There was a tense pause and she added, "Just puttin' in a word, that's all."

Loghain followed her with his gaze as the mage returned to Ellie's side. It was unlike her to string so many sentences together, let alone coherent ones. Yet her words did remind him that it had been long since he had paid any attention to Kinloch Hold, not since they had rid it of Orlesian elements after Remille's plot failed. Much as he disliked mages, with no Circle ambassador at court any longer, they couldn't afford to ignore the Magi completely. The thought made him weary. There was not a patch of earth anywhere in Ferelden which wasn't stained by politics.

After Ellie picked out a shiny new set of silverite armor to be delivered to the estate, the family continued their walk on the forest path out of Gwaren. As Loghain had hoped they might, they came upon a group of Dalish elves on the path. They had a pack halla with them and were obviously coming into town to trade, having avoided the larger crowds of the high market. Clad in dark leathers marked with the strange symbols of the elven gods, with the pungent smell of camp smoke and the sickly sweet herb they burned in it clinging to them, and with their peculiar face markings and shimmering eyes, it was small wonder that the townsfolk were uneasy with them. The sovereign could overcome a lot of things, however, and elven daggers and bows brought high prices at market. The traders who could overcome their prejudices were rewarded for it.

Loghain was not after either of these things, however. One of the things Leffert had mentioned was that the dragon society distributed its works through Dalish traders. It was ironic, considering that they seemed to consider elves little better than animals. However, the Dalish could move things outside official channels and across borders more easily than any other group, even the dwarves, whose trade was closely watched because so much of it was in lyrium and lyrium-enchanted wares. Most of the elves probably could not even read what they were selling. In the back of his mind Loghain thought again of the witch, who had also used the Dalish as her messengers.

The dark-haired young woman who spoke for this group was polite and deferential with him, and when he asked to see any books they might be selling, eagerly produced several out of one of the packs. Her attitude changed when Loghain gestured at her with one of them. "This book calls for the overthrow of the government in Denerim. It is treasonous. Tell me where you got this."

The woman's face turned stony, and there were a few moments of nervous chatter among the Dalish in their peculiar tongue. Finally she turned back, replying, "We don't want trouble for those who trade with us. There are few who do and we depend on them. The human lord will understand."

"The human lord does not understand." Loghain moved closer, eyeing the Dalish woman severely. "I am teyrn of this land. If you do not give me the information I want, there will be much trouble for you and your people, I promise you."

After more chatter with her companions, the dark-haired woman turned back to Loghain, her expression sullen. "The book came from Mather bookseller in Amaranthine. He trades us cheaply what will not sell in his shop."

"I will give you a silver for the book, but see to it that you are more careful in future what sort of things you buy and sell." Loghain tossed the silver at the woman, then his attention was caught by the sound of laughter from some of the elves. Those who stood apart and hadn't heard his conversation with their leader were instead entertaining his son, or rather, their halla was doing so. The beast had licked the front of the boy's hair into an upright slab. For his part, Gareth was equally enthused and was giggling while Ellie stood nervously by. The boy was timid around a group of solid Gwaren folk who had turned out just to see him, but apparently was perfectly at ease with wild elves of the sort who murdered people who came too close to their camps. The Maker toyed with him, Loghain thought with resignation, by ensuring that he would never understand either his wife or child.

"Gareth! That's enough. Come along now." The two year-old was reluctant to leave his newfound friends, but knew when his father's tone meant business. As they fell in together, leaving the Dalish behind them on the path, Loghain remarked to Ellie, "We'll make a stop in Amaranthine on the voyage home. I'll be interested to see what Rendon Howe has to say about Orlesian sympathizers romping through his precious arling."


	19. Chapter 19

14 Solace, 9:28 Dragon Age. Vigil's Keep, Amaranthine arling.

The ancient keep of the Howes was even more dreary on the inside than it looked on the outside. It was Elissa's first time there since she was a young girl and she was shocked at its condition. Carpets and tapestries were visibly mouldering. Wooden stairways creaked dangerously, the boards warped by water damage. Lady Methilde had never been a pleasant woman, but Ellie did not remember it being anything like this while she lived. She seemed to run a tight ship, in fact, and was probably now screeching in her grave.

The arl wasn't pleased at receiving surprise visitors. Loghain had decided not to tell Rendon he was coming. The idea was that it would put him off balance, and Loghain liked to have the upper hand. Since they were going to ask for the arl's help, Ellie thought it better to be straight with him and more courteous. A side effect of wanting to be more involved in her husband's affairs was that they argued more often. Just like in the practice room, neither of them liked to lose. This time, Loghain won.

The tension carried over to dinner that evening. Other than the Mac Tir entourage and Arl Howe, present at table were a sulky Thomas and a miserable looking Delilah Howe. Like their home, Delilah seemed shrunken compared to the girl Ellie remembered. They had gotten along well on visits back and forth or when they chanced to be in Denerim at the same time. Ellie always found her more pleasant than either the taciturn eldest Nathaniel or Thomas, who was fun-loving but had a cruel streak. Delilah still tried to keep up pleasant conversation, but otherwise she spent much of the meal staring at her plate. Her face went stark white when the topic of conversation turned to Fergus.

"Tell us about your brother, Elissa." Rendon gestured at her with his wine glass. "He's now heir of Highever, is he not? And turning out to be a fine, handsome young man by all accounts."

Ellie could guess from the angry glance Delilah cast at her father what was going on. She had heard enough such subtle talk from her own mother to recognize a marriage overture. "I haven't seen Fergus since last summer, but he is all those things, Arl Howe. Nevertheless he is still very young. Hale as my father is, it will be a long while before Fergus will need to think of inheriting."

"Of course, of course. Bryce will outlive all of us, I'm sure," Rendon replied with a smile. "He's fortunate that way, and most other ways, too. Nevertheless to be the scion of such a family is an accomplishment in itself, and thus far Fergus seems to be just what he ought to be. A pity I can't say the same for others of his generation. My own Nathaniel, for example. Or our careless young king."

Ellie glanced quickly at Loghain to see if he would give any reaction, but the teyrn's face was a grave mask. No matter what he thought of Cailan, he was careful not to give any indication of it in public. The king was still the king. Turning back, Ellie carried on quickly, trying to turn the conversation towards neutral territory. "Nathaniel is in the Free Marches, is he not? Do give him my regards. We were not friends, exactly, but I don't know of any stain on his reputation."

"He's in Kirkwall. As to his reputation, your guess is as good as mine how it goes these days. I'm afraid you'll also have to pass on your own regards. We have little contact with him." There was an edge of hardness to Howe's voice. "My children are not as dutiful to me as you are to your parents, Elissa."

"I'm sure that's not true," Ellie replied with a nervous laugh, turning her eyes towards Delilah. The young woman's pale, pinched look silenced her, however. Thomas gave a disgusted snort but said nothing, only moved food around on his plate. So much for neutral territory.

The evening had not gotten as bad as it was going to get, however. Howe turned to Loghain. "Now as for this book you showed me in the study before dinner, your grace. I intend to show you how seriously I take this matter, so that you will have no doubts about where our family loyalties lie."

Loghain looked up sharply at the turn in conversation, and glanced around the table. "I had thought to discuss this further in private, Rendon."

The arl shook his head. "Not necessary. My children should hear this. Despite my sacrifices and loyal service to the crown all these years, it appears no one ever forgets the stain of treachery brought on us by their grandfather."

"If you say you knew nothing about the bookseller, I accept your word. No one blames you for your father's actions."

"Do they not? I am not so sure. Our family is rarely given the place that it deserves." Ellie felt Rendon's eyes rest on her. The arl had lobbied hard on Nathaniel's behalf for her hand, but not even an appeal to old friendship could move Bryce to accept that marriage offer. His refusal had nothing to do with old Tarleton Howe's support of Orlais during the occupation. The simple fact was that politically it would be a marriage beneath an heir of Highever, and since Nathaniel would not speak two words together to Ellie, there was no sentimental reason to go against practicality. Before she could speak, Howe turned back to Loghain. "I will demonstrate to you how seriously I take such treachery. Leave this bookseller to me, Teyrn Loghain. I will interrogate him personally. Perhaps his information will lead us to the rats' nest, even back to their connections with Orlais."

"We can stay another day or two. I would like to hear the man's report myself."

"Not necessary, your grace," Rendon answered quickly. "You said yourself that you are eager to return to Denerim. Don't trouble yourself with this. Allow me to show you how useful I can be to you. If you aren't satisfied, you are free to return and re-examine the man yourself." Loghain hesitated, his expression doubtful. Finally he nodded, acquiescing.

Laughing nervously, Ellie cut in. "Enough of politics, my lords. It ruins the appetite. Of course I think we must retire soon anyway, at least Gareth must."

Rendon turned his eyes toward the little boy, who had already finished dinner and begun to squirm sideways in his chair. "A fine son you have given the teyrn, Elissa. Heir of both Gwaren and Highever, too. So auspicious for a young man."

Ellie was about to correct him to say that Gareth could only inherit Gwaren, but busy as she was untangling the two year-old's limbs from the chair arms, she didn't bother. She and Loghain preferred anyway to remain private about such things as the terms of their marriage contract. When Gareth was upright again, she turned back to the table. "Thank you, Arl Howe. We're very proud."

"I'm sure. No doubt Bryce and Eleanor are positively aglow with their good fortune."

The dinner broke up soon afterward. Gareth was to share a guest room with Anya, but Ellie went to see him into bed. Anya did the honors of the bedtime story. She frequently told stories from around Lothering, and they so often ran to the bizarre and disturbing that Ellie got the idea that the good folk of that town must either have very vivid imaginations or no end of troubles. Perhaps it was a bit of both. Since Gwareners also liked a good ghost story, she thought it might be attributed to being so close to the Korcari Wilds and the Brecilian Forest, where there were just enough actual terrors to inspire the fictional kind.

Gareth loved Anya's stories, at any rate, and he was rapt as she told about the ghostly werewolf of an abandoned village outside Lothering, whose lonely cries could chill the blood. Ellie sat at the head of Gareth's bed, stroking his hair while they listened. It was getting longer on his neck, thick and the color of strong Rivaini coffee, wavy like hers. People said that he favored her, but in certain facial expressions he was very much his father.

"Something calming," Ellie mouthed to Anya, as it was apparent that the werewolf was keeping the boy awake rather than putting him to sleep. The mage promptly switched tack, turning to the subject of sheep and their antics, and how lambing time went. This was counter-productive at first, too, since Gareth loved animals and kept interrupting to make sheep noises. Anya knew a great deal about the woolly creatures, however, and eventually her encyclopedic knowledge on the subject and his mother's gentle touch brought the boy heavy eyelids and finally sound sleep.

Ellie met Delilah in the hallway on the way back to her own room. "Teyrn Loghain is still with my father downstairs, Elissa. I sent a maid in to start a fire in your room. Warm as it is, the keep always gets a chill at night."

"Thank you, Delilah. I hope our surprise visit hasn't caused too much trouble."

"Not at all." The dark-haired woman paused, then leaned in. "You seem to be faring well, Elissa. I was sorry to hear that your father had made you marry the teyrn. It must have been difficult for you."

Startled, Ellie fumbled for a reply. "I... well, I suppose it was at first. It was not easy to leave Highever."

Before she could finish, Delilah went on, keeping her voice low. "And to marry someone so much older, with one wife on the pyre already. It's not fair that they expect so much of us. We ought to be left alone to find someone we love."

Ellie was at a loss. She did not disagree, but from experience she also knew she could not easily explain how things were between her and Loghain. It was also apparent that the conversation wasn't really about her marriage at all. "I gathered from dinner that your father is pushing for a marriage between you and Fergus."

"'It's no offense to your brother, Elissa, but I don't want to marry Fergus or be teyrna of Highever. I'm not like you."

"I suppose not." It was unclear to Ellie whether she should take this as a compliment or insult. "If it is any consolation, my brother is a good man. He would be a gentle husband. Or he will someday, when he settles down a bit."

"They say he does nothing but sword-fight."

That was true by all accounts. Fergus had made it to the semi-finals in the Highever tournament that summer, pitted against men much stronger and more experienced than he. His training with Bryce's men and his occasional lessons from Loghain on visits to Denerim were paying off. "He may do, but it is expected that a lord lead his men into battle if the need arise." Ellie hesitated before going on. "Delilah, it sounds to me like you would rather not marry a noble at all. If that's the case, why not look around for a wealthy merchant or smallholder? You could have a good life that way, with none of the hassles of title." And you would get out of this crumbling keep, Ellie thought to herself. That had to be worth something.

Delilah gave a small, bitter laugh. "You think my father would allow that? No. If you hadn't married Teyrn Loghain, Father might have gone on to him next."

Her tone implied that this would be a dire fate. Ellie tried to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. "Loghain is a good man. He has heavy responsibility on his shoulders, but we are happy."

"I can see you are making the best of it. Good for you, Elissa." Delilah sounded skeptical. "You were bound to make something of yourself. But I should let you retire. Do call if you need anything."

Ellie was in bed, still awake and still annoyed, when Loghain came in. He made a stop in the washroom before changing into a pair of light sleeping pants. After he had settled into the bed with a sigh, Ellie turned her head. "Do people ask you awkward questions about me?"

Her husband's voice was muffled by the arm he had thrown over his head. "Awkward?"

"Like how it is to be married to me, or how I am in bed."

The arm rose a little and Loghain opened one eye. "What?"

"Like if I'm a polecat in bed. That sort of thing."

"Maker's breath." He let his arm fall back on his forehead.

She pressed on. "Do they? They ask about you, after all."

"I'm asleep, yes? What a strange dream."

Ellie prodded his chest. "It's true. Noble and commoner alike, women want to know what sort of lover you are. If you're as sour as you look. If you hit me. If you yell a lot. They act like I'm some sort of martyr for marrying you." Loghain moved the arm, rubbing a hand over his eyes. Belatedly Ellie realized how these questions would sound to him. It was an insult that people suspected such ill of him. She lifted her own hand to cover his, but he neither moved nor replied. In the silence, Ellie traced a fingertip along a scar along the back of his hand. She could see the dark hairs stand on end where she touched his skin. Ellie's fingertip moved over Loghain's signet ring, then on to touch the hair at his forehead. He kept it loose more often these days, saying that it was because she was always undoing his braids anyway. Leaning up, Ellie kissed the small space of temple between his hand and hairline. "Have I upset you?"

The arm lifted again, and this time Loghain spoke forcefully. "I'm _tired_, Ellie. And I care sod-all if entire Ferelden thinks I tie you up and ride you backwards with my armor still on."

Ellie was shocked speechless. She stared a moment, then silently lay back on her pillow and pulled the covers up over her chest. After a pause she spoke up again, quietly. "That was quite an image." Loghain gave no reply, but she could tell he was still awake. She turned her head towards him. "Perhaps not the bit about the armor, but the tying up and riding backwards part..."

"Andraste's blood, woman." Loghain was feigning annoyance, but she knew by his tone that she had him, that he was trying not to laugh. Her hand slid beneath the covers and up his thigh. He was not hard yet, but it took only a moment. When he spoke, his voice was a growl. "If they ask, I'll tell them polecats have more decorum." He reached over to pin her shoulders, stopping her laughter first with his mouth and then his tongue, a hand maneuvering to stroke her with one roughened finger until the laughter turned to a long, quiet moan. Finally he turned her, pressing into her from behind. He took her quickly, the wet sounds of skin against skin and both their gasps keeping the time.

There was no rope or armor involved, but Ellie never thought to be disappointed.

22 Kingsway, 9:28 Dragon Age. Denerim.

"There you are, Anya. I thought you were never going to get back. Did you forget I'm supposed to go to the palace this afternoon?" Ellie had met her attendant at the door, taking a market basket and bag of flour out of her hands.

The mage shot her a pointed look as they took the groceries into the larder. It was the cook's day off and the shopping had fallen to her. "I remember, m'lady. I had to go to three stalls to find a decent pear. Doesn't anyone in this arling know how to grow a tree?"

"You went too late. The good stuff is always gone by midmorning. Anyway, hurry up. Gareth is napping but he won't stay down for long."

On the way to her chambers, Ellie paused to pick up the toys that had been strewn in the hallway. Quietly she slipped into Gareth's room and deposited them into one of his toy boxes. She was about to turn when she heard the sleepy little voice. "Mamma. Play horse."

"We can't play horse right now, sweet pea. Mamma has to go to a meeting." The boy had a wooden riding horse, but that was a distant second to one of his parents ferrying him around on hands and knees. It was not a game that Anya could play because of her joints, and Loghain was best at it since he could make the appropriate horsey noises. Ellie sat on Gareth's bed, reaching out a hand to brush hair back from his forehead.

"Meeting?"

"Yes, a meeting. You'll stay with Na-Na and Cutha, and then da and I will both come home for dinner. Are you going to get up now? Do you have to tinkle?"

Gareth shook his head, but clambered out from the covers and onto Ellie's lap. She lifted him as she stood, exclaiming, "Maker's mercy, Lord Mac Tir. You were already big when you came out of me, but I think you must have rocks in your pockets now."

He giggled, chiding her. "I don't have rocks in my pockets, mamma."

"No? You could have fooled me." She walked with him out into the hallway, bumping into Anya as she was going into her own rooms. Gareth held his arms out to the mage and went to her willingly while Ellie stepped to her dressing table and brushed at her hair. She spoke over her shoulder. "He didn't eat any lunch before he went down, so he'll probably want soup when he properly wakes up." Glancing behind her, Ellie caught her attendant's look. "Yes?"

"Nothing, my lady." Anya allowed Gareth to squirm out of her arms to the carpet. The toy trail hadn't been cleared in this room yet and there were things he had to do.

Ellie looked back to the dressing table, but kept talking. "Out with it, Anya. You might as well tell me now or you'll just grumble it at me later."

"You're at the palace a great deal these days, m'lady. None of my affair, o'course. Just can't help but notice."

"I have my weapons practice as always, but I'm also on the privy council now, speaking for Gwaren and Highever."

"Oh. The _privy_ council." Anya's expression never changed, but the sarcasm in her voice was ripe.

Ellie whirled around. "You disapprove, I take it."

The mage had taken a seat near Gareth and was watching him as he moved the wooden tiles of a puzzle. "You got yourself a good boy here, m'lady. A good man and a good boy. That isn't enough? On top o' that, you need a privy, too?"

"Gareth is fine. I wanted to do something else besides mind house and attend afternoon teas."

"As you say, m'lady."

Ellie stared, irritated, but Anya said no more. Finally she prodded at her again. "I'm trying to help Loghain, and to feel useful. I don't need your permission."

Anya sighed, rising to her feet. "Let's get you some dinner, young master," she said to Gareth, reaching for his hand. On the way out she paused, looking back. "If you couldn't see your boy as much as you'd like, you'd know what I'm on about. You're a good woman, ladyship. There's just times when you show you're a noble after all."

Pursing her lips, Ellie was about to protest, but Anya was gone. On her way out of the house, Ellie stopped in the morning room where Gareth was slurping at his soup. Leaning in to Anya, she spoke in a low tone but forcefully. "I _am_ a noblewoman. My parents taught me that that is about more than wearing a title. It's about serving your people, your teyrnir, your country, even if that takes you away from other things. That is what this is about."

"Ah, is that what it's about. I see, m'lady." Anya's tone was dubious.

Ellie reddened. It was clear, however, that this line of discussion was going nowhere, and she was going to be late for the council meeting if she stopped to defend all her actions to the servants. She and Loghain allowed Anya great latitude, but there were times when Ellie regretted it. She forced a smile as she kissed Gareth's forehead and departed.

The other councillors were present and mostly seated when Ellie slipped into the room and found her own chair across from Loghain's. He met her eyes and nodded once, his usually impassive face softening briefly at sight of her. Cailan was leaning against his great chair at the head of the council table, occasionally exchanging banter with those near him. Anora sat at his right. Things between them were, by all appearances, calmer. The king had even made a formal apology to Anora in front of Loghain for striking her, and seemed genuinely chastened by the experience. Loghain was skeptical that he had actually reformed, but even he could not deny that Cailan's demeanor was improved.

The young king was in high spirits as he called the council meeting to order. One thing that Cailan could do as well as his father was make even formal meetings seem like cordial chats between friends. On this day, he was apparently feeling expansive. "This is a momentous day, friends. I am aware that some of you have been dissatisfied with certain of my actions up to this point. You think I have not lived up to my father's greatness. It pains me, but I am inclined to agree with you."

There was a murmur in the chamber. Ellie shot a glance at Loghain. He was seated sideways, leaning back in his chair with his jaw resting on one hand, regarding Cailan with a hawk's glare. His expression never wavered.

Cailan lifted a hand to silence the councillors and went on. "I have spent some months in thought and study of my father's papers. I called you here to open my mind to you, as my trusted friends and advisors. I have tried to carry on Maric's legacy, but only in the small things, in the petty disputes of land and taxes and bann rights. My father looked beyond these things. He saw not just what Ferelden is, but what we could be. He was great not because he spent his days minding the small affairs of the kingdom. My father knew each of his lords by name, but that was not enough. He was not resting on what he had accomplished. He was looking beyond Ferelden's borders. He gave his life to secure our place among the nations. We have mourned him too long, friends. It is time for me to truly take up his mantle, and for that I have to take up his causes." The king paused, gesturing to a steward who waited at the side door. While the steward stepped outside, Cailan was already continuing his speech. "I am going to re-institute my father's plans to build a royal navy and to secure a more favorable trade alliance with the Free Marches. I plan to lobby the free peoples of Thedas to establish permanent diplomatic embassies in Denerim. The first of these is already under way. Gentlemen and ladies, may I introduce to you the first envoy from Orlais to take up residence in Ferelden since the end of the occupation. We welcome you to our court, Baron Rodolfe de Bruyn."

A man in sea-blue velvets, gold trimmed, had entered with the steward. He had a thick shock of curly grey hair that stood up in a lopsided salute on his head, flopping forward and back again as he bowed low in Cailan's direction. His Fereldan was only lightly accented. "It is my honor, King Cailan. I am to convey the personal greetings of her majesty Empress Celene to you, to your illustrious Queen Anora, and to all of the lords and ladies of your court."

The Orlesian went on to other long-winded niceties about the friendship between Ferelden and Orlais, comparing its past difficulties to a quarrel between sisters. Loghain had shifted in his chair and was leaning forward, gaze trained on the Orlesian ambassador as though he might skewer the man to the wall with it. Ellie noticed him briefly break it off in an attempt to catch Anora's attention, but the queen was avoiding her father's eyes and keeping her own trained on the ambassador.

Cailan finally cut the ambassador off to take the floor back. "I have accepted the baron's credentials and approved plans for construction of a residence in the palace district. Though we have sent invitations to other countries across Thedas, it is fitting that Orlais should be the first. My father himself spoke of the importance of cementing the friendship and peace between our two great nations. The ambassador has also delivered to me an invitation from Empress Celene for a state visit in Val Royeux next summer. I intend to accept. Some of you, my lords, may be invited to travel with the royal entourage. There will be time to discuss that, however."

There was so much murmuring that Cailan only made a half-hearted attempt to discuss the other things on the agenda, that year's harvest and of the royal Harvestmere celebrations and of an outbreak of flux in the alienage. Ellie could see that Loghain was not hearing a word. When the meeting broke up, Cailan made a quick exit through the side door, Anora right behind him. Ellie had a hard time catching up with her husband in the hallway. She followed him into Anora's chambers. The queen was putting her papers down on her desk and turned to meet them.

"What is this?" Loghain demanded.

Anora's tone was conciliatory. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. We were going forward with it regardless, and I knew it would only cause trouble if you knew."

"You should have told me. This is a farce. And putting this at Maric's feet?" Loghain laughed bitterly. "Maric exchanged letters with Celene once or twice, so now we're one big happy family. In his deep study of Maric's writings, Cailan obviously didn't come across the part where his father cut off contact with Celene because he found out she was trying to insert bards into the court. Of course, why would you care about that, Anora? Maric fought to keep the bards out, but you have one bloody fluffing the bedcovers for you every night! Now this prancing dandy is going to have the run of the palace, too?"

"Father, keep your voice down." Erlina was nowhere to be seen at the moment, but she was never far from the queen's side. Stepping close, Anora went on, entreating him. "Cailan isn't wrong. Maric did want better relations with Orlais. You said yourself, when you were investigating his disappearance, that you can't keep an eye on someone unless they're close enough to see." Anora gestured. "Now we'll be a bit closer. It doesn't mean that Fereldan interests will be jeopardized. I won't let that happen. We can always send the ambassador back if he causes trouble."

Loghain had started shaking his head before she was even done speaking. "When did you become so naive, Anora?" Ellie put a hand on his arm, but he angrily shook it off and pointed a finger at his daughter. "This will not end well, I promise you. You don't know what these people are like. You are thinking that Orlesians are like our nobles. As worthless as most of the lords of Ferelden are, they are meek and virtuous compared to those snakes. A hand of friendship from Orlais is just a way to conceal the poison dart. Always."

The queen was keeping her composure with an obvious effort. "Thank you for your counsel, Father. If that is all...? Elissa, it was good to see you."

Although Loghain stood rooted, unwilling to be dismissed, he eventually let Ellie pull him out of the royal chamber. He shot a glance at Cailan's door when they passed, but made no attempt to divert. As they descended the great stair, Ellie heard him mutter, "Cailan the great diplomat. Maker help us all."

After Gareth had been put to bed that evening, Ellie looked in on Loghain and found him standing at the window of his study, looking out on the lantern lights of the city barely visible through the trees. He spoke to her without turning. "Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if that Orlesian captain had left us alone. I'd be a farmer now. My daughters would have married cobblers or blacksmiths."

"I would probably never have met you." Ellie put an arm around his waist from behind, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

"You wouldn't want me if you had. I'd have dirt under my fingernails."

"I'm not afraid of dirt."

"No. You aren't." Slowly Loghain turned and pulled her to him, drawing her into an embrace. As he rubbed her back, some of the tension went out of him. With one hand he reached up and pulled at the gold comb at the back of her head, loosening her hair.

Ellie's knees weakened under her as she felt his breath against her neck, just where the hair met her ear. She had to swallow hard to speak. "You don't mind that I am in the palace more often?"

Loghain pulled back and brushed a palm over her cheek, looking down at her face. "No. You are a credit to me in all ways. It all seems less mad when I see you across the table."

"It's not so bad, this embassy..."

He shook his head, cutting her off. "I don't want to talk about it. Those bastards can have you in council, but I get you to myself here." He leaned down and kissed her, and had begun to unlace her bodice when they heard the door crack open behind them. Turning, Ellie saw the top of a curly head peeking in the door.

"Gareth. You are supposed to be in bed." She stepped over to the door, opening it to admit the little intruder.

"'Nother story, mamma. Just one more." Gareth held up a stubby finger, mimicking how his parents looked when promising or threatening just one more lemon drop or one more offense before he would be punished. This was clearly a negotiation.

Sighing, Ellie scooped the pajama-clad bundle up and shot Loghain an apologetic look. He smiled, gesturing with his head towards Gareth's room. "Almost to myself, at any rate. I'll come with you."

By the time that Bobo the friendly bear had saved the hunter from a troll, earning safety in the forest as his thanks, Gareth was asleep and Loghain had again begun to flutter Ellie's neck with kisses. "Let's take a ride tomorrow, just the two of us," he whispered as she was reaching to extinguish the lamp on their son's end table.

She waited to reply until they were out in the hall and she had pulled Gareth's door partly closed. "Alright," she nodded, smiling. "We haven't done that in a long time."

Cutha padded up the hallway towards them as though summoned by talk of riding out. Ellie put a finger to her mouth to shush the hound. Cutha often slept in Gareth's room, at the foot of the bed, but he was prone to loud snuffling and sighing as he settled in for sleep. "Shh, boy. You can go in, but Gareth just fell asleep. If you wake him, I'll have your hide."

Loghain pulled on her arm. "Let's go. If Cutha wakes him then he can tell the next story."

The next day they walked their horses out of the royal stables and to the northern gate, then rode along the main road until they found a smooth track that wound deeper into the countryside. Gareth stayed behind with Anya, but Cutha bounded along behind both of them, veering off into the woods occasionally. Ellie diverted once, too, when she spied a pear tree that was laden with fruit. She picked a few to submit for Anya's approval and they stopped at the farmer's house to pay a silver for their take. Back on the path, they passed only a few haycarts bringing in the final cutting of the year before Ferelden's long winter set in.

With the sun high in the sky, Loghain spread out his cloak on a meadow just off the path, and they ate their lunch. As they lay curled together, dozing in the sun, he spoke up in a lazy voice. "Do you remember the day of the wedding hunt? Our wedding, I mean?"

Ellie didn't open her eyes, but she smiled. "I remember I stole you away from the company at the midday break."

"So you did, cheeky girl." Loghain was silent a time before going on. "When I asked what you expected of me, you said you wanted to be friends."

"I can't believe you remember that."

His voice rumbled in his chest when he spoke. "It was the first time we really talked. Of course I remember. I got my first good look at you up close, too."

"I imagine you saw lots of mud."

"A little. But you were quite lovely for all that." Even with eyes closed, Ellie could tell that Loghain was smiling. He paused before he spoke again. "I think we've done it, don't you?"

She moved, lifting her head to look at him and bracing one hand against his chest. "Done what?"

"I think we're friends." Loghain had also opened his eyes and was watching her steadily.

"Of course we are."

He shook his head. "Don't say that quickly. It's not as easy as that."

"Loghain, what are you talking about? You're my best friend. Almost my only friend."

He reached up to touch her hair, gently as though she were a fragile thing, and Ellie began to worry that his manner was so strange. She was about to ask if there was something wrong when he continued quietly, "I've only ever had two or three that I called true friends. I believe, looking back, there was actually only one. Only Maric. What I had with Rowan and with Celia, that was ruined after." Loghain stopped and let his hand fall, turning his head away from her.

Staring, Ellie tried to figure out what it was that he wasn't saying. She thought she could hazard a guess. "I'm not going anywhere, Loghain. Nothing's going to be ruined."

His mouth twitched, almost smiling. Loghain said nothing more, only turned back and pulled her closer.


	20. Chapter 20

23 Drakonis, 9:29 Dragon Age

The Orlesian ambassador had prepared a speech, but he was having a hard time getting through it. That was just as Loghain wanted it.

Around the meeting table sat numerous lords and those of the royal staff who were preparing for Cailan's state visit to Val Royeux in summer, called there by Anora. Though the queen herself would be remaining in Denerim, she was supporting the effort and doing most of the planning. She and Cailan sat at the head of the table. Bryce had been invited to accompany the king and had made the journey from Highever to attend the meeting. Next to him sat Ellie. Opposite the Couslands and the ambassador, Loghain stood against the wall, dressed in the armor he had stripped from the Orlesian commander at the Battle of River Dane. When de Bruyn began to speak, offering the oily smile and overdone greetings that were his wont, Loghain stepped away from the wall and began to pace.

Back and forth, back and forth, his eyes never leaving the ambassador. De Bruyn was trying to carry on, but occasionally his glance would stray to the general and his words would falter. Looking at his notes, he tried to carry on with his flatteries and assurances, but never with the balance he would otherwise have had. Loghain knew him to be nothing more than the empress' spy. He wanted the ambassador to know that he knew, and for everyone else to be reminded, as well. The very presence of an Orlesian lord in these halls, from which the usurper once supervised the rape of Ferelden, was an insult. De Bruyn did not seem to have any direct relationship to Meghren or the occupation's supporters, but that did little to redeem him in Loghain's eyes.

At last the ambassador gave up and the floor was opened for commentary. A few courtiers returned the baron's flatteries with some of their own, and Arl Leonas Bryland spoke up to ask about security measures. De Bruyn stumbled over the reply and Loghain could see that Leonas wasn't satisfied. Nor should he be, Loghain thought, taking some grim pleasure in the fact that not everyone was sleeping.

Then Bryce stood at his place, folding his hands behind him. "Your Majesties, I am happy to accept this invitation. Highever has valuable trade and diplomatic contacts in Orlais, and I believe this visit will further them immensely. There is no substitute for the tete à tete, eh, ambassador?" Loghain could barely keep from rolling his eyes as Bryce and the Orlesian exchanged smiles. Cousland then turned back to the table and added, "I would also like Elissa to be part of the delegation, if the crown has no objection to adding her to the roster."

"Absolutely not!" Loghain stepped forward, locking eyes with the other teyrn. He could feel Ellie's eyes on him, as well, and gestured towards her. "Elissa is Teyrna of Gwaren, not Highever. Gwaren has no need to lick the boots of the Orlesians."

Bryce's gaze was equally sharp. "Nevertheless she represents our interests to the crown, as well. She is here, is she not? I assumed..."

Cousland fell silent when Ellie put a hand on his arm. She shot Loghain a warning glance. "We can discuss this later. Surely a decision does not need to be made now? Thank you, Father."

"Yes, thank you, Bryce," Anora put in, taking the floor back. "Are there any other concerns or requests?"

Loghain did not hear the rest of the palaver. He had resumed his pacing, but with different intent than to unsettle the gasbag of an ambassador. Though he was sure that she would not want to leave Gareth behind for several weeks anyway, the very idea of his wife surrounded by Orlesians, being plied by their trappings, having either to apologize for being the wife of the Hero of River Dane or defend his honor, made him ill. It was bad enough that Anora was supporting the venture. When the meeting broke up, Ellie left with Bryce, eyes locked with Loghain's. He shook his head, warning her not to test him, but she quickly shifted her gaze and withdrew from the hall.

Later that afternoon, Ellie appeared at his study door. She had been at practice and was still in leathers, sweaty and with her long auburn hair tied back. It was a look that on more than one occasion made his knees go weak. When they had joint weapons practice, they sometimes ended with private exercises. On this afternoon, however, Orlais was between them, and with little preamble she turned the subject there.

"I think I'm going to go," she began, tentative, eyes shining with anticipation.

He looked up sharply. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Loghain, just stop and think a minute..."

"Think? I seem to be the only one in this palace willing to do so at all. Perhaps the only one in the kingdom."

The volume of both their voices was steadily increasing. "Father is right. As far as the crown is concerned, I represent both Gwaren and Highever. I should be there. Like it or not, Orlais is our neighbor and too large a power to ignore."

Loghain cut the air with his hand. "Put this out of your mind, Ellie. It's not going to happen. I'll not have my wife drawn into Orlesian intrigues, in the very pit where they're bred. Can you not see what is happening? They are waging a soft war now, and will win back everything we fought for without a single clash of swords. No. Absolutely not."

Ellie reddened, squaring off in front of him. "I am not just your wife. I have my own mind and my own standing, as I did before I even married you. Do not forget that, Mac Tir."

"And what about Gareth? Are you going to go explain to him that you have your own mind and he matters little in your grand plans?" Loghain knew that he was moving into unfair territory, especially since he was so frequently absent from his family, but desperation was moving him. When it came to winning, no tactic could be considered out of bounds.

To his surprise, Ellie calmed a little. Her tone was earnest. "I am considering Gareth. Loghain, whatever you or I may think of Orlais, Ferelden is going to have closer relations with her. Our son will be teyrn after you. He's going to have to make his way in the world as it is, not the world as you want it to be. Maybe I can make some bridges for him. He's a Mac Tir. It is time to make that name mean something more than war."

Loghain flinched. He had accepted that his elevation by Maric meant little, since he was a soldier and always would be. Ellie was right that the name Mac Tir was covered in blood and that Gareth would inherit that legacy. He had thought that Ellie held it in more honor than most, however. His voice quiet and seething, he answered, "Since you know so much about it all, I am sure you realize that a river can be a defense as well as a barrier. I know what's on the other side of the bridges you want to build, Ellie. I've seen it. I aim to see to it that you and Gareth never have to."

Ellie shook her head, her frustration apparent again as her arguments met his stubbornness. "This is not about your family! The men who hurt your mother are long gone. Don't make the rest of us live with your pain forever."

Loghain came around to face her, his eyes burning dangerously. In a low, even tone, he replied, "What happened to my family was repeated countless times over. You speak of things you do not understand. How fortunate for you that others suffered so that you could now feel important with vain ambitions."

She did not back down under his gaze. "My family suffered, too, or are you forgetting that? Yet my father seems able to see beyond it. Why can't you? It's just a visit, Loghain. I'm hardly going to be building a summer home in Val Royeux."

"If it was just a visit, you would not put so much stock in it. You would back down."

Ellie expelled a breath and rubbed at her forehead. After a pause she spoke again. "I am sorry you see things this way, but I have made up my mind. I think this for the best for all of us. I hope you can come around and will not make this more difficult for me and for Gareth."

He turned, resignation fighting against rage. There were nobles that supported him in holding the line against Orlesian incursions into Fereldan society, but losing Elissa's support would weaken him considerably, besides making him look personally foolish. His jaw working, Loghain did what he had long before learned to do when something hurt. He let it teach him. It was good to be reminded that he could not count on anyone, not even on Ellie.

With quiet bitterness he replied, "Do as you will. I know the first rule of our marriage. I am not allowed to forbid you anything."

"Do not be petulant, Loghain. It doesn't suit you."

He turned his head. "Leave it. I think you should go now, Ellie. I have work to do."

There was a pause, and Loghain assumed that she was withdrawing quietly. However, he then felt and heard the _thwack_ of her fist against his shoulder. After another moment she did it again. Turning, he grabbed her arm just as she was raising it to strike his back again. "What do you think you are doing?"

"I told you that you aren't going to just dismiss me any longer. Apparently I have to beat the lesson into you." She jerked at her arm, trying to free it, face red with anger and exertion. "Let me go. We're going to have this out right now, Mac Tir. With swords, if you prefer."

"Ellie, for the love of the Maker, this isn't a game."

"No, it isn't!" She relented, but stared up at him with challenge. "You hate the idea of my traveling to Orlais, I know, but we are a pair, not lord and servant. Are you ashamed that the Orlesians would see that I am your wife?"

"If you intend to act like such a child, then maybe I am."

She glared at him, and Loghain thought she might slap him. There was a pause where both of them sized the other up as though they were indeed facing each other with swords. With little cognition of what he was doing, Loghain found kissing her, and a few moments later they slumped against the wall, his body pinning hers as he began to grope at leather. He was no less angry or desperate to dissuade her than he had been moments before, in fact he felt even angrier at her obstinacy. Likewise Ellie looked every bit put out by the turn of events. Nonetheless when he failed to get her breeches unlaced quickly enough, she pushed his hand away and loosed them herself, hauling them down moments before he lifted her hips and entered her.

It was difficult to penetrate her fully at first, and in frustration he stabbed, kissing at Ellie's neck, until she was finally able to shift and take him in. They both murmured and fought, the awkward stance making the motion less satisfying than usual at the same time that both of them were urged on by illicit charge. Loghain did not require long to feel his end coming, but he held himself, leaning back to let Ellie rock against him as her own need dictated. Only when he felt the telltale shudder in her thighs and heard her gasp did he press her against the wall again and thrust quickly to finish with her.

Their mouths met for a few awkward kisses before they released each other, feverish and looking somewhat sheepish as they re-arranged their clothing. Loghain glanced toward the door. His guard stood without and might have overheard, but at least Alun Marwell was on duty and he not likely to gossip.

Allowing a hand to linger on Ellie's waist, Loghain met her gaze then looked away again. "Well. We should talk more about all this later."

Ellie nodded demurely, hovering close to him before she finally broke away. "You're coming home soon?"

"Soon," Loghain confirmed, nodding. He made to look at his papers, but when Ellie turned to leave his eyes followed her, trailing down the slender backside once again covered by her close-fitting leathers. That she might be subject to the gaze of Orlesian degenerates soon was a thought he was trying to keep at bay, but there was also some satisfaction in the idea. If they had any manhood at all, they would envy the Hero of River Dane more than his armor. In spite of himself, Loghain's lip was curled in a small grin as he sat down to his desk.

An hour and a half later, he doused the lamps and locked the study door behind him. "Walk with me," Loghain directed Alun brusquely, throwing on his cloak and not waiting to see if the guard followed.

He did, and even burly a man as he was had no trouble keeping up. Neither man spoke until they were out of the palace proper and walking the path towards the residence. Finally Loghain began, "You were at the meeting. You heard what was suggested, about the teyrna going to Orlais?"

"I did, m'lord."

"This is no small thing I ask you. If she insists on going, then I want you to go with her. Watch over her like a tick on a mabari. Watch everyone else who is watching her. Be her shadow every moment." He glanced at Alun. The notion of the squat guard with massive limbs as a shadow for Ellie was humorous, but Loghain's expression never changed. He added, "You'll have to watch that mage, too, since I'll want her to go along."

Alun looked over. "Anya?"

"Do you know any other mages in my employ? Anya. Gareth will have to get by without nurse or mother for a while, since I want a healer by Ellie's side." Loghain cursed quietly. He was normally careful about badmouthing the king in front of others, but Alun was a friend. He remembered Maric well. "Fool's errand, this is. Cailan is playing at being important and now my wife insists on tagging along. That ought to please the gossips. Watch those, too. There'll be a lot of silly nobles in Cailan's entourage and Maker knows what fools they'll make of all of us."

When Loghain ceased his grumbling, there was silence while the two men walked, boots crunching in the snow. Finally the guardsman spoke up. "I was just a boy, your grace, but I remember the heads." The teyrn looked over and followed Alun's hand as it gestured towards the palace walls. "I grew up here in Denerim. I was message boy for my father's forges. Had to come to the palace sometimes and I'd see 'em set up on pikes, looking down at me with the birds plucking at their eyes until there weren't no more eyes to pluck."

Alun fell silent and Loghain made no reply, only walked with head bowed, both men somber. After a time Marwell went on. "Then there was the butcher on our street who'd come over from Jader or some such place, 'cause there was too many butchers wherever he come from and he thought he could try his hand here. I played rounders with his boy in the square, when we could get boys to play. Kids didn't like the 'dirty Orlesian' any more than the parents liked to buy from his father, only the butcher had low prices, and that made some even angrier. When the rebels come, you and Prince Maric as was, some in the neighborhood figured they'd had enough. Turned the butcher and his family out and burned their shop while the poor sods watched. Fools caught a few other houses afire, too, and then the butcher's family had to run for their lives from the mob because that was their fault somehow, too." Marwell paused, then concluded, "I never knew which was worse, Teyrn Loghain. The heads or that fire. Still don't."

Loghain glanced at him. "Are you telling me you would rather not have this duty?"

"No, ser," Alun answered quickly. "It just put me to mind of it, that's all. Rest easy. I got left behind when the king sailed, but I won't be caught useless twice."

"Good man. This time I'll be the only useless one."

Loghain left Alun in the foyer and went in through the parlor, following voices until he found Ellie and Gareth in the three year-old's room building a fortress of blankets draped over chairs and chests. As his father entered, Gareth burst up through the middle of the fortress, scattering blankets with a growling war cry. "Your castle is MINE!"

"Infiltration. An excellent tactic, Lieutenant Gareth, if one can manage it," Loghain observed cheerfully. The boy turned his menacing invader scowl towards his father and waved an imaginary sword in the air.

Poking her head out from the collapsed blankets, Ellie said, "Ah, you're home. Gareth has eaten his dinner already but I waited for you."

She started to rise, but Gareth cut off her retreat with the imaginary sword. "Stop! You're my prisoner, mamma!"

The prisoner turned and patted Gareth's dark curls. "You stay here and play. I'll send Anya in with some cake for my ransom."

The price was apparently considered fair, since the youngest Mac Tir turned back to set about reconstructing the fortress. Ellie straightened her dress and approached Loghain, glancing at him with evident nervousness. Their afternoon romp had been too quick and forced for them to feel like their argument was really done.

As they came through to the kitchen, they found the mage attendant talking with Alun in the hallway. "Anya, would you... oh." She stopped short. "Never mind. You're busy. I'll have Elsbet take Gareth his cake."

"No trouble, m'lady. I'll see to it."

Loghain was guarded over their dinner, though avoiding any talk of the palace left him and Ellie with little to discuss. When he was nearly finished, he finally spoke up quietly. "You're going to insist?"

"I'm afraid I am."

Loghain shook his head, laying his fork aside. He had fought Maric, too, and after the ships went down, had cursed himself for not fighting harder. Yet once long ago when he had objected to the idea of the king going on a dangerous excursion, Maric had given in to his face and then gone anyway, in secret. Ellie was not likely to do the same, but Loghain also knew that you could go away from a person in more ways than one. He and Celia had done that even before he returned to Denerim.

"Alright," he answered, heart heavy. "You must do as you will. Teyrna." Loghain spoke this last word gravely, with no hint of sarcasm. Ellie was right that with their difference in ages, not only Gareth but she might have to bear their titles someday without him. He knew with certainty that the trip was a mistake, but perhaps she would learn from it in time. His tone turned sharp. "If one of those painted bastards so much as looks at you improperly, I'll cross the country collecting all the chevalier armor I need to in order to put the whoreson down."

Ellie smiled mischievously. "So romantic, you are."

Loghain snorted and stood back from the table, wanting the conversation done. He wandered into Gareth's room to find Anya haranguing the three year-old to put his toys away so he could get ready for bed, and Gareth calmly stating that he wasn't ready yet.

"You'll do as your told, Gareth," Loghain said sternly as he entered. The boy jumped, not having realized that his father was behind him. Though he didn't look happy about it, he stood and began methodically carrying toys to the chest. Anya glanced and Loghain and nodded her thanks. "I'll take it from here, Anya. Thank you."

"You stayin', da?" Gareth asked with a surprised grin. It was a rarity that he got his father all to himself at bedtime.

"Is that alright with you, Lieutenant?" Loghain returned the smile. He received an emphatic nod in reply, and the boy picked up the pace of his tidying, more motivated with his father supervising rather than his nurse. Anya left them, and Loghain tended to the fire in the hearth while Gareth finished with the toys.

Finally, having changed into a sleep tunic and tucked into the covers by his father, Gareth asked, "Can I go to see the soldiers tomorrow?"

Loghain sat down on the edge of the bed. "Not tomorrow. I have some things to do."

"Soon?"

"We'll see. The men do ask about you."

"I like 'em."

"I know you do." Loghain smiled, brushing a hand over Gareth's head. He did not often bring his son to the barracks and practice halls. It was irregular and Loghain was conscious of relaxing discipline too much. There were always bandits and seacoast raiders, the odd darkspawn attack or abomination which was mostly handled by templars. Nevertheless it had been a long time since Ferelden had known real war, and as general Loghain was concerned that the troops keep sharp. He ran tough practices and drills, and every summer would call in the officers from the various parts of Ferelden for field exercises. His men did ask after the little teyrn, however, and treated him like a celebrity. For his part, Gareth was enthralled at barracks life, at seeing mabari in training or sword practice, and would talk about these things for days after being allowed to visit.

Gareth let out a massive yawn, but recovered enough to ask another question. "Da, did you ride a griffon?"

"A griffon? Where did you hear about those?"

"Mamma told me. The Grey Wardens ride 'em."

Loghain scowled. "There's no such thing and likely never was. It's a story, Gareth. Real soldiers don't ride mythical flying beasts into battle. They trust their arm and the man beside them. That's all you need."

The little boy's eyelids were drooping. "I want... a griffon..." Before his father could protest any further, the brown eyes closed and Gareth was asleep. Loghain watched his son sleeping for a few moments before finally leaning forward to kiss his forehead and pull the covers closer.

He then retired to his study, but the maids had made a fire earlier in the evening and the room was close. After pacing a bit, Loghain went back to the foyer and pulled on his boots, slinging a cloak loosely over his shoulders. Snow had blown in on the terrace, but he brushed some off a chair and sat looking out over the empty yard. The half-melted remains of a snowman he and Gareth had made a few days before looked ghoulishly back at him.

His thoughts were morose. Cailan was a fool chasing some image of his father, but that his own wife and daughter could not see the danger in this course the country was taking was maddening. It all came down to Bryce and Eamon, two who ought to know better. Their fetish for Orlais and intent to open Ferelden's borders wide were leading others in that direction, making them complacent. Maric had been a restraining influence. The king had tried to resettle Orlesians left behind after the usurper king was dead, and he was open to normalizing relations with Orlais, but mostly Maric was cautious apart from a few reckless lapses. If men like Cousland and Eamon Guerrin were in a hurry to turn Ferelden into an Orlesian client state, how could the younger generation be expected to understand? They thought that the stories of the war were exaggerated, that it was all water under the bridge. They couldn't possibly know what Loghain knew and what the other men should know as well: That the sickness of Orlesian decadence and ambition was incurable. The only solution was quarantine.

Loghain heard the door open and turned to see Ellie emerge from the house, a blanket thrown over her shoulders. "You're going to turn into a snowman yourself if you stay out here much longer." She stepped over to him and seated herself crosswise on his lap, tucking the blanket around them both and leaning against the chair, regarding him. Loghain slipped an arm around her waist and didn't reply. After a moment she spoke up again, quietly. "I wanted to apologize for what I said about your family. I have no right to bring them up. You are right that I don't know what I'm talking about. I could never have survived what you all did, you and Maric and Rowan and the others."

"If anything good comes of this, it will be that you see the truth. As for surviving, I believe you would, Ellie. Others might not, but you have Rowan's strength. If pushed to it, you would do what you had to do."

"I'm glad you think so."

Loghain lifted a hand, brushing at her cheek. "You asked if I was ashamed for the Orlesians to see my wife. I am not. Cailan is going to fawn over them and make us ridiculous, but you will be there and they will know we are still Fereldans. You tell those bastards, any time you get a chance, that even with Maric gone, we haven't all forgotten."

"You should have more faith in Cailan, Loghain. He is ambitious, but he seems to be trying. And Anora is behind him in this."

"I would feel better if Anora going and not Cailan. She thinks it will do him some good to be kingly." Loghain snorted derisively. "Oh, he'll love the Orlesians alright, and they will love him. Flatterers and airheads all. Keep an eye on Cailan, Ellie. I am sending Alun with you. He's a good man and was Maric's guard for many years. If Cailan gets himself in trouble, you can trust Alun to know what to do."

Ellie smiled. "Alun is coming with us? That should please Anya."

"How so?" Loghain lifted a brow, still more wrapped up in his thoughts than concerned with how the servants felt about their duties.

Looking at him incredulously, Ellie poked a finger at his rib. "Loghain, don't be so thick."

"Thick? What are you on about?"

She pursed her lips. "They _fancy_ each other. Don't tell me you haven't seen it."

The notion had never occurred to him. Alun was just Alun, he had been in Maric's service for years, and if he had ever had any family of his own, Loghain was not aware of one. Many who reached that level in the guard or the army had none. It had been his own lot for many years as widower, since Anora stayed with a governess and even as a child had never seemed to have any need for him. In any case, if Marwell did have an inclination to lie down with someone, Loghain doubted it would be with that misshapen shrew of a mage.

He shook his head. "You're imagining things. And you're as bad as the maids with all your gossip."

Ellie's smile remained, and she gave him one of the smug looks she got when she couldn't wait for him to be shown up. "As you say, your grace." Turning, she lay her head back on his shoulder and sat quietly a few moments, Loghain's arm looped around her waist. Finally she spoke up again. "How did you do it, anyway? All those things you and Maric and Rowan and everyone did. How did you survive?"

Loghain took his time to answer. When he did so, he spoke slowly, remembering. "The others, Rowan and her father, they were real warriors. I was just a hunter, a bandit. All I wanted to do was survive and get my revenge. Then I saw my father die for the idea that Maric represented more than just the shivering, scared boy he appeared to be. I had heard Father say 'you aren't a man unless you can die for something other than yourself.' I never knew he was serious about that." He paused, trying to call up the image of the first Gareth Mac Tir. The outline was always faded. He could hardly remember anymore what his parents looked like.

After a moment he added, "That's how I did it. If you consider yourself a dead man, you have the courage to do things you wouldn't otherwise. I stood on a ridge wearing Maric's cloak with hundreds of Orlesians bearing down on our few men. They were all thirsty to take what they thought was the rebel prince and end the war for good. I was a dead man. If I hadn't been able to accept that, I would not have been able to stand and do what I did. Most of the other men didn't survive."

"How did you get out of that alive?"

"Rowan saved me."

Ellie was quiet a time, then said, "So, you're a dead man. That is why you go away from us so often, isn't it? You're trying to remind yourself that you're alone. Dead men don't have a wife and a son, is that it?"

Loghain's voice was thick. "You talk too much, and now I have, as well."

"Answer the question."

He breathed a heavy sigh. After a pause he said, "I serve Ferelden. You knew that when you married me, and nothing has changed. Don't try to make me into something I'm not. You must either accept it, or..." Or they would arrive at the same pass he and Celia had. Loghain had tried to convince himself that that was not where they were headed, but after all, it was inevitable.

Ellie sat up and looked at him. Even in the dark, he could see the earnestness in her eyes. "You only thought you were dead. On the ridge, I mean. Rowan saved you. You weren't alone then and you aren't now."

"And are you going to save me?" Loghain's tone was one of grim amusement. Ellie made no reply, and after a moment she rose. Loghain caught her wrist. Looking up at her, he said, "I was on that ridge for Maric, not for me. I'm still a dead man, but I'm not doing it just for Maric anymore."

She paused, then nodded once. "Come in now, Loghain. And don't even think you're getting into my bed without warming those feet first."

The following morning, Loghain set off for Fort Drakon. He had gotten a message that a prisoner had arrived from Amaranthine, a tidy package knit up and presented to him by Rendon Howe. The bookseller who sold the treasonous volume to the Dalish elves had taken ill and died in the dungeons of Vigil's Keep, but before he did, he had provided the arl with several leads of others involved in the "dragon society." Though Loghain had yet to verify all the information, it looked sound, and it came as a pleasant surprise that Rendon had gotten so much out of his investigation. There was at least one noble left in Ferelden who recognized Orlesian trickery for what it was. Loghain had never given the weaselly arl much credit. He had been useful in the rebellion, but had never amounted to much afterward and Mac Tir was never sure why Bryce put stock in him. Now he was beginning to see what the other teyrn might have gotten out of Rendon's vassalage.

The Fort Drakon guards saluted and led him through the vast passages of the mountain fortress. The labyrinthine keep was simultaneously barracks, armory and Ferelden's largest prison. Under the Orlesians, it had served as torture den, as well. The racks and pulleys had either been destroyed or put in storage. Maric had sometimes condoned torture during the war, but disliked its use and there had been little need under the peace.

Civilian prison cells were on an upper floor. The prisoner Loghain came to see had been brought from her cell to a holding room. Surrounded by heavily armed guards as she was, the blonde woman dressed in a stained shift made for a pitiful contrast. She was shaking, though whether from cold or fear Loghain couldn't tell. The guards parted as he entered, and a captain handed him the evidence packet from Howe that Loghain had already examined the day before. The woman looked up at him with terror in her eyes.

"Get her a blanket," Loghain ordered sternly, gesturing at one of the guards. He wanted her to trust him, at least for now. Taking a seat across from the woman, he opened the leather pouch and began taking out the books and papers Howe had sent, laying them out in front of the prisoner. After the guard had brought the blanket and the woman settled it around her shoulders, Loghain spoke up again. "These are yours, I'm told."

"They... we..were...my father's." The woman's teeth were chattering so violently that it was hard for her to speak.

"You kept them even after his death? These books call for the formation of a pan-Orlesian dynasty that includes Ferelden. That is treason. And you kept these, though your mother was dead, too?"

"They were my father's. I ke...ke...kept everything."

Loghain said nothing for an uncomfortably long time, his gaze fixed on her. While conducting interrogations during the rebellion, he had learned that there was something about his eyes which made others uneasy. He never bothered to question what about him had this effect. It was useful and that's all that mattered. After a moment the woman looked down and stared at the table in front of her. Finally Loghain asked, "Do you know who I am?"

"You're Te..Teyrn Loghain."

"Then you know I can help you, if you are willing to help me." There was a flicker of hope in the woman's gaze, just what Loghain was hoping to see. He allowed a smile to cross his lips, assuring her further. "I understand you're from Redcliffe. You have a cousin who works as Arlessa Isolde's lady maid. I want you to visit her. In fact, I think you ought to consider a move. Your parents are dead, and Arl Howe might make life difficult for you if you return to Amaranthine. Your cousin could no doubt get you a position on Isolde's staff. It would be a step up for you. You could have a good life there."

"Redcliffe." She stared dumbly at him, as though the word were foreign to her.

Loghain smiled and nodded. "I think it is best."


	21. Chapter 21

_Many thanks to Clariana for allowing me to borrow her character Chantal from _The Rain in Val Royeux, _linked in my Favorites, for this chapter. I found that I couldn't imagine the city without a Chantal in it. My chapter will be a spoiler for that story so by all means read it first, because you're in for a treat. A hat tip also to CostinRazvan for his story _The Battle of River Dane_. Empress Celene must have read it, too! I am grateful as always to my readers, reviewers and to my patient fanfic therapist SurelyForth. Dragon Age belongs to BioWare. -A._

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17 August, 9:29 Dragon Age. Champs de Concourse, Orlais.

Cailan's shock never turned to fury as Ellie had expected. Instead, he reached up to dab at the blood streaming down his temple and looked dumbly at the red on his glove before turning his eyes again to her. As retainers rushed to help him shakily to his feet, the king's shock was broken by a brief smile. "I should have known. You do like to see me on my knees, Elissa."

"It was for your own good, Your Majesty. I'll explain later."

He regarded her silently, then looked up at the crowd. As the attendants clutched at him to lead him away, Cailan shook them off. "Just like Loghain and Anora. The three of you are always so eager to bray at me about my own good."

Ellie was bleeding, too. Nowhere visible, but she could feel it oozing on her shoulder, and could already feel where the bruises would be. Between her and Cailan, Anya would have her hands full that evening. Keeping her voice steady, Ellie replied, "If you would listen more, we wouldn't have to shout."

Cailan spat blood into the dirt and lifted a hand, gesturing towards her. "I'm the king, and I decide what is best. That's all that matters."

* * *

9 August, 9:29 Dragon Age. Val Royeux.

Ellie woke with the bells. The early morning rousing was the one drawback of the astonishing view of the Grand Cathedral that the main window in her suite afforded. From high on the Mount of Fire, bells pealed out early for morning prayers and again for the evening Chant. Though her bodyguard Alun Marwell had told her to stay out of windows, Ellie found she couldn't comply. Every morning since her arrival, Ellie rose at prayer time and watched the city wake up beneath her feet. Even early in the morning, there was a muted energy that was palpable. Denerim could not compare.

She was not the only one who was too restless to sleep. Alun was installed on a cot in the outer chamber, guarding the entrance to her suite. Anya's room was next door to the teyrna's. For several nights, Ellie had overheard them talking quietly in the parlor, late into the night. The burgeoning friendship between the two attendants was obviously growing. Ellie hadn't asked Anya about it yet, judging the relationship still fragile. She was nonetheless pleased that at least Anya was not lonely on their trip. Days were busy, but at night Ellie missed the company of her husband.

Loghain's face had been white as they stood together on Denerim quay some two weeks before, waiting for baggage to be loaded. The ships they were boarding were plain merchant vessels, not painted royal carriages, but Ellie knew that Loghain was thinking of a day four years earlier when they had said farewell to Maric. He had admitted as much when they lay curled together in their bed on the morning of her departure.

"I'm afraid you won't come back," he told her, giving in to much prodding. "And afraid you won't want to come back."

Ellie had waved off his fears, but after several days in Val Royeux understood them a little better. Not only the city itself, but the Orlesian court was like nothing she could have imagined. Even the most extravagant of Cailan and Anora's parties was a small, backward affair compared to the welcome ball the Empress had thrown for her Fereldan guests. As one after another of the court was presented to them, Ellie had had to remind herself not to gape. The Fereldans were mostly dressed in velvets, trimmed with gold and chain, close fitting. Some of them wore ceremonial armor. The Orlesian fashions, both clothing and hair, were works of gaudy, gravity-defying architecture. Both men and women were painted with cosmetics.

The most understated of the Orlesians was the Empress. Her gown was elaborate and her blonde hair was curled in hundreds of perfect ringlets, but her look was simple compared to that of her Orlesian guests. Perhaps she was trying to be good hostess, navigating a middle road between Ferelden and Orlais. Cailan was obviously impressed. Many ladies sought to dance with him and he indulged them all, but the empress always got him back at her side. Ellie found Celene both beautiful and charming. Loghain would have said that her charm was artifice, but if it was, then the ruler of Orlais had mastered it.

She soon came to think the same about a young woman who presented herself to Ellie at breakfast the morning after the ball. If she had been at the party, Ellie hadn't noticed her under the wigs and makeup. The young woman introduced herself as Chantal. She was a head shorter than Ellie and far more petite, her blonde hair cut a few inches above her shoulders.

With a sweet smile she said in Orlesian, "You are the Lady Cousland-Mac Tir, no? Do you understand my language?"

"_Un peu_," Ellie replied. In her youth, Bryce and Eleanor had insisted that Ellie learn some Orlesian and had hired a local clerk to teach her. Ellie had a quick mind for arithmetic and history, but trying to wrap her tongue around Orlesian was a different matter. The years had not improved her grasp. Bryce had attempted to practice with her on the ship, but her few attempts to speak it in Val Royeux had left the Orlesians either puzzled or laughing. Usually both.

"Then you need the practice," Chantal replied, laughing. She was speaking with a careful enunciation that reminded Ellie of the few actresses she had met in Denerim. The woman might be a singer, or a dancer, petite as she was. _Or a bard_, Ellie heard Loghain saying, as clearly as if he were standing right next to them. That seemed more likely as she explained further. "I am to be your guide in Val Royeux. Anything you desire to see or do, anything you need, allow me to provide for you."

Ellie paused, shy of speaking. There was nothing for it if she were to act the diplomat, however, so she finally plunged ahead. "That is kind but not necessary."

Chantal clapped delicately. "You don't speak as poorly as I had heard, my lady. In any case I find the Fereldan accent charming. As to necessity, that you enjoy your visit, for us that is quite necessary. Do not be modest."

There was one way in which the young woman, whoever she was, might be useful. "Very well," Ellie replied. "I would like to see the Cathedral."

The empress' seneschal verified that Chantal was Celene's representative, and a time was arranged for that afternoon for the Cathedral visit. The sight of an Orlesian royal carriage accompanied by Fereldan royal guard drew stares all along the narrow streets. Slow as their progress was, Ellie had plenty of time to stare back. Occasionally Chantal commented on a landmark or, as they began to climb the Mount of Fire, on the monasteries and park grounds they passed. Finally they arrived at the Cathedral, entering through a side door that led through a small chapel.

Once inside the main sanctuary, Ellie found herself once again gaping, this time at the height of the vaulted ceilings that seemed to catch sounds and convert them all into a hushed whisper, and at the elaborate carvings depicting scenes in the life of Andraste and the history of the Chantry. Elves walked along slender ledges high above them, lighting lamps as even the little sun let in by small windows was lowering. At the altar, enormous braziers burned. As in the much smaller Fereldan chapels, there were priests and sisters praying before each brazier, offering an unbroken chain of prayers to the Maker.

Ellie had her neck craned back looking at the carvings high above her and nearly tripped over a small figure bent on one knee, in prayer before a bank of candles. It was Chantal. It felt odd to pray here, as though this place had very little to do with the modest chapel at Highever or the slightly larger one in the Denerim palace, or even Denerim's cathedral. Still, the Maker was the Maker even here. Getting down on one knee next to Chantal, Ellie tried to make her thoughts quiet enough to follow the thread of the ritual prayers she had learned from Mother Mallol.

In the end her prayers turned to Loghain and to Gareth. Loghain's work often took him away, but Ellie had never been so long apart from her son nor so far away. She could almost convince herself that he was around the corner somewhere with Anya, that he would run into her arms, give her one of his father's scowls and ask her where she had been so long. Her argument to Loghain and herself had been that she was part of this diplomatic mission for Gareth's sake. Weeks apart from her son had left the logic of that rationale feeling strained.

Eyes opening, Ellie whispered, "Keep them safe, my two men. Holy Maker, shield them. Don't let my sweet boy be sad without me." Tears made the flame of the candles dance. She felt in her pocket for the wooden horse and rider whose Gwaren crest was almost worn off. Gareth had once given it to his father when he was going away, and Loghain had carried it with him on every journey since. At the quay, he had pressed it into Ellie's hand.

When she rose, brushing at her eyes, Ellie saw that Chantal had already finished her own prayers and was regarding her with a concerned smile. "All well, my lady?"

Embarrassed, Ellie nodded. "I miss my husband and son. They are in Denerim."

"The Hero of the River Dane, yes?"

It was strange to hear the term rendered into Orlesian. The words were not far off from the Fereldan, but pronounced quite differently. So that was how Loghain was known to his enemies. "Yes," Ellie replied, moving off towards the main altar. She wanted to put off the awkward discussion of Loghain's history that was bound to come eventually. The holy sanctuary was not the place for it.

Alun was instantly at her elbow, as he had been nearly every moment since they boarded the ship. When Ellie realized that her guards were pushing back those who were entering for the evening prayers, she tried to order them off. Every soldier accompanying the royal entourage had been handpicked by Loghain, however, and Ellie knew they didn't really answer to her.

Finally she gestured to Chantal that they should leave. As they made their way towards the side entrance, Ellie heard a woman call out "Maker bless you, Princess."

Chantal did not acknowledge the call, but at the door Ellie paused and turned to her with a raised brow. "Princess?" Ellie knew that Celene had been briefly married in her early years on the throne, a match that ended with the young man's death. It was whispered that the empress got what she wanted out of her consort in her children and removed him herself. Nevertheless she had never guessed that her guide was one of Celene's own blood rather than a handmaiden bard.

The blonde woman smiled sweetly. "I am the youngest, and we shall make no ceremony. It is the Fereldan way, yes? Just Chantal to you."

"Then you must call me Ellie."

Outside, Ellie diverted her guard so that she could see the main plaza before the Cathedral. Beggars and cart merchants looked to be fixtures, but others were apparently on their way to hear the evening Chant. They broke around the ring of Fereldan guards like water, staring and whispering, before continuing up the steps to the Cathedral. The sun was just about to set behind its spires. Ellie turned her head this way and that, listening to the cacophony of Orlesian. For a moment she imagined what she was hearing were the shouts of soldiers on a battlefield, that the crowds were turning on her with swords drawn. How many times had Loghain heard such voices calling out to the Maker as he ran his sword through them? Perhaps it was why he never joined her when she went hear to chapel. Soon the voices were drowned out by the peal of the cathedral's bells. Ellie watched the scene a little longer before she gave in to Alun's urging to leave the crowded square.

The subsequent days were taken up with meetings with tradesmen. Ellie accompanied Bryce, he speaking for Highever and she mostly for Gwaren. The traders were almost entirely male and not inclined to take a young woman seriously. At least with the merchants she could speak the common tongue, and all of them understood profit. Gwaren also had the most to offer because the Orlesians were the least familiar with its wares, the distance only a little further than Denerim. Ellie produced samples of timber, pouches of best quality mineral ore, and longbows engraved in the Chasind style. It was difficult to gauge how sincere the interest was. Only time and the exchange of gold coin would tell that. If it did, her teyrnir guildsmen would thank her even if Loghain did not.

Ellie did not see Chantal for several days, finally meeting her again at a dinner hosted by Celene.

"I have been hearing reports about you, Madame Ellie," the princess said as she approached. "All the city knows that you are here now, the clever young wife of the Hero of River Dane. Since you have been working so hard in the trade halls, shall we not do something more pleasant tomorrow? A small garden party, for women only. So many of our ladies would like to meet you."

The party was held at the estate of a widowed marquise on the city's outskirts, and Chantal had not been exaggerating that it was for women only. Alun insisted on accompanying her, and he held to his duty bravely even when it turned out he was the only man in a parlor full of perfumed ladies, apart from a butler who came and went announcing new arrivals. Rain kept the party indoors, and as the number of guests grew, doors were opened to the adjoining rooms.

Ellie was relieved that Chantal had at least exaggerated the interest in her. Other than the princess and the marquise hostess, few seemed to know who she was until it was explained to them, and she received more than one disdainful examination of her clothes and hair. Female-only party it might be, but the women looked like they had spent all morning at their dressing tables. Ellie wondered that they managed to breathe in their corsets, and not topple over on their high shoes held to their feet with the most delicate of ribbons.

The guests kept to their small cliques, chattering or playing doublets or _les échecs_. Ellie joined in as she could, but was starting to feel bored and out of place when Chantal appeared at her elbow. "Madame Ellie, a few of us are retiring to another room where we might be more comfortable. Would you join us?"

It sounded like a fine idea. In her simple silk dress, Ellie had no need of greater comfort, but she couldn't doubt some of the less pretentious Orlesians would appreciate a chance to put their feet up. She was curious to see what informality looked like in Orlesian circles. Ellie followed Chantal into the small side parlor, Alun right behind them. She paused at the door of the salon, glancing around the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a dark-haired woman stretched out on a divan, a lady with red hair seated at her feet and unlacing the ribbons of the woman's shoes, removing them and massaging her friend's feet. So it was true that the shoes were as uncomfortable as they appeared.

A plump young woman she had met earlier spied her at the door and smiled, gesturing for Ellie to join her. Ellie started forward, trying to recall the woman's name before she had to ask it again. Had it been Eloise? Justine? It was so hard to remember. When she glanced back at the divan, Ellie froze in her tracks. The dark-haired woman had lifted her skirt up to her thighs, and her companion was kissing the woman's feet rather than massaging them. Ellie stood transfixed for a moment, watching as the red-haired woman's kisses moved from a pair of delicate ankles up towards the exposed thighs. The dark-haired woman had rested her head back on the divan, and soon began coiling fingers into her companion's hair, loosening it from its clips and letting the auburn coils free.

Ellie started and turned as someone said her name. It was Chantal, smiling at her and reaching for her hand. "Come, Madame Ellie. You needn't be embarrassed. Perhaps your guard could wait outside this time, yes?"

Mumbling, Ellie took a step back. "I... I'm sorry, Chantal. There is some mistake. Please excuse me."

She fairly pushed Captain Marwell back out into the main parlor. Her heart was still beating fast as Ellie found a quiet corner near the garden door where the air was not so close. The double doors had been thrown open despite the rain, and though she was occasionally splattered by a drop blown in by the breeze, the fresh air was welcome. Ellie tried to collect her thoughts. Some of her acquaintances had confessed that their lovers did not include only men, but such matters were rarely treated so casually in Ferelden. It was just the surprise that rattled her, Ellie told herself. Nevertheless she could not deny that as she looked back towards the closed door, she was curious.

When she glanced back again, Chantal was in the doorway, looking around the parlor. The princess spotted Ellie at the garden entrance and crossed towards her. Her blonde hair was mussed, and as she approached Ellie noticed that the princess' small, rounded lips were reddened with kissing, her brow moist with perspiration. Despite herself, Ellie stared at the princess' mouth a moment longer than she intended.

Sighing, Chantal straightened the bone of her corset, then gestured towards a maid who was serving cups of wine and cordials. "Come sit with me," she said, gesturing towards an empty table nearby. When they had taken a seat, Chantal chose a glass of white wine from the maid's tray, gestured for Ellie to do the same, and went on, "I hope we did not offend, Madame Ellie."

"No, no, princess. Of course not. I was surprised, that's all." She forced a smile.

"Ah _bien_." Chantal dabbed at her forehead with a handkerchief, took a sip of wine, then laughed. "More than one of the ladies was sorely disappointed that you left. You are something of a rarity for us, you see."

Ellie was afraid to ask. "How so?"

Chantal gestured towards her. "So strong. I think you are a warrior, yes? Like Aveline of the tales. Yet your hands, they have the fine, long fingers of a bowmaiden."

Sure that her cheeks were hot enough to raise the temperature in Denerim, Ellie stammered, "I... thank you. I don't... That is, I have not..."

Laughing once again, Chantal shook her head in disbelief. "Dear Ellie, it is as though you were a maid. Is it such a surprise for you? Many of my friends are married, as well. Some of them, like you, have husbands who are much older, men they married for politics and not for love. If we presumed, it was only because we guessed you were a like spirit. In any case, it is only a few moments' diversion away from the eyes of the court, some pleasure to ease the boredom of the daily routine."

"I see." Ellie smiled, a little more genuinely. She studied her wine glass, unsure what else to say but feeling Chantal's eyes on her.

"Do you have no lovers at all?" The princess sounded skeptical, even concerned.

"I have one."

Chantal nodded, smiling. "Ah, and you are loyal to him. I understand."

Ellie was sure that the princess did not understand, and that she assumed that the lover was someone other than Loghain. The realization made Ellie feel peculiar, as though in this company she was the scandalous one and was about to make a shocking confession. "I mean my husband. We did marry for politics, but I have grown to love him and want no other."

The princess appeared surprised, but after a moment laughed. "_Ça alors_, Ellie, but you are more of a rarity than we thought."

On the way home from the party, the carriage passed by a large building that Ellie first took for a chapel, but which Chantal explained was the city's largest hospital and medical faculty. The sight reminded Ellie of something she had heard Anora discussing with Loghain. Ferelden's queen wanted to improve Ferelden's uneven patchwork of Chantry schools and to introduce a university faculty to Denerim, but the royal accounts weren't able to support it and the Chantry wasn't forthcoming. Ellie realized that Anora might at least be interested to see how such schools operated in Orlais. Chantal obliged by organizing tours of several academies.

Occupied as she was, Ellie had not been able to comply with Loghain's wish that she keep a close eye on Cailan. Alun, at least, was able to follow the king's activities through his contacts with the other guardsmen. They reported that the king spent a great deal of time with the empress, and went out less than Ellie did, mostly receiving Orlesian visitors in his apartments at the palace. He had received several night calls from Orlesian courtesans, but was keeping to security protocols. This was the most surprising news Alun had for her. Since his youth Cailan had been infamous for his ability to give his guard the slip, earning the nickname the Rogue Prince. It was what allowed him to take such full advantage of Ellie's visits to Denerim. Ellie wondered if Loghain's warnings had finally sunk in, or if the trip to Val Royeux was enough of a roguish adventure in itself to satisfy him.

Ellie couldn't be certain, but the description of one of the courtesans who had visited Cailan in the night sounded a great deal like Chantal. The princess was obviously a designated Fereldan ambassador. Chantal could speak some Fereldan, but it would not have taken much digging to learn that Cailan was also fluent in the language of the _boudoir_. There was little doubt that the king had received Chantal's advances more willingly than Ellie had.

Late one afternoon Ellie received a message inviting her to Celene's private apartments for breakfast the following morning. A royal escort met her at her suite an hour after the bells. This proved to be more than a courtesy. Celene occupied an entire wing of her vast palace, and the network of marble hallways was bewildering. Surrounded as she was by a small army of Fereldan guard and the Orlesian escort, it took them a half hour. They remained in the hallway at the empress' suite, trying to outdo each other in looking impressive. Alun and Anya accompanied Ellie inside.

Ellie found Celene fresh-faced and her blonde ringlets immaculate, dressed in a simple shift and robe that looked little more formal than a dressing gown. The three women sat in a sunny alcove of ringed with delicate sculpture and orchids. Alun stood at the door, his face the usual impassive mask he assumed when on duty.

"Shall I call you Lady Cousland or Lady Mac Tir? Or Teyrna?" Celene asked Ellie while servants uncovered chafing dishes and poured tea.

"Lady Mac Tir, please. Or simply Elissa if you prefer." From the thoughtful look the empress gave her, Ellie guessed that this question had been a test of sorts.

They spoke of Chantal and of the things Ellie had seen and undertaken during her stay. Ellie presented her idea of having guest lecturers from Orlais visit Ferelden to teach, beginning with a teaching physician she had met at the hospital who knew some Fereldan. She would raise the funds for a stipend herself, she insisted, declining the empress' offer to contribute.

Celene laughed gently. "You wish to maintain Fereldan independence even in this. Very well, Madame Mac Tir. Write to us when you are ready and the arrangements will be made." After a silence, the empress went on, "Tell me about your husband. I have been able to learn something of him from the men who fought him, and your king has told me more. However I wish to know of the man, not the legend or the advisor."

"I do not know what you wish to hear, Majesty. Loghain is not a political sort. As he seems to his men and in his public life, so he is."

"I am told that he is ruthless and cunning, that he kills with a cold eye. When the rebels could not afford to take prisoners at River Dane, they cut their throats on Commander Loghain's orders. To many of the older officers in our armies, he is known as the Butcher of River Dane."

Celene was watching her as she spoke. Another test. Perhaps the empress meant to shock her, thinking her naive. Lifting her eyes, Ellie answered calmly, "I am aware. Surely you are also aware of the butchery that your people perpetrated on our country, on soldier and innocent alike." She paused. "Since we are being frank with one another, Your Majesty, tell me something. Why are you so different from your predecessors? Is it because you are a woman, or is there something else?"

The empress smiled. "Don't you really mean to ask_ if_ I truly am different than them, or if I only seem to be? Madame Mac Tir, how shall I recount my country's history in such a short time, or that of my family? It would bore you. Let me compare it to _le vin_. In its youth, the juice of the grape is bright but fickle. When it rests, it learns patience, it learns the reward that hides in subtle things. I make no apology for the actions of my fathers. What they did, it made us stronger, both your country and mine. However I do not share their appetites. I love poetry, sculpture, and _le dans_. I want to remind my people of such things. They cannot remember to appreciate them when they are occupied with conquest."

"Then you do not intend again to make war on Ferelden?"

Celene laughed and clapped her hands, looking much like Chantal as she did so. "Very good, madame, very good. Now I truly know that the Hero of River Dane sits before me."

Ellie remained sober. "Perhaps I have been influenced by my husband, but if that is so, then you should know I am as stubborn as he is. Please answer my question. Too many people suffered for us to make light of it here."

"But look what their suffering has gained. You and I, the children of this war, sit peacefully in my home in Val Royeux and drink tea together. You will soon return to your country having, so I hope, made friendships and valuable alliances here. This work is slow, it is painful to learn to trust one another. I, Celene, speak for Orlais now, and I tell you that we wish nothing but peace and friendship with our honorable neighbors."

It was what Ellie expected to hear, but there was nothing to do but accept it. "I hope you will remember your promise, Majesty. But forgive me, I did not intend to spoil our breakfast with politics."

"Not at all. I admire your determination. If I am well informed, it is a trait you share with your queen, no? A pity that I could not meet Queen Anora. I have watched her career from afar with admiration."

"I shall pass on your greetings, thank you."

Celene sipped at her tea, going on without missing a beat. "I have heard rumor, in fact, that you might have become the queen of Ferelden instead of Anora."

Somehow Ellie managed not to choke on her biscuit. Of course Celene would have heard the rumors. If the canny empress had watched Anora's career, then surely she had been watching the rivals as well. It seemed that her indiscretions were going to follow her her entire life and even across Ferelden's borders. The biscuit bought Ellie some time while she considered whether or not to be candid. She decided that there was no point in denying what the empress already knew. Nodding, she answered, "I was Cailan's lover at one time, before our marriages and his coronation. That was a long time ago. I am now devoted to my husband, as the king is to Anora." Bards mixed truths with lies, Ellie had heard. She decided to test out the theory. The empress would know of Cailan's infidelities, but she need not know that they were anything more serious than bored noblewomen pleasuring each other at a party.

The empress smiled. "An admirable loyalty. Yet do you not sometimes regret missing your chance to be queen?"

"I am not an ambitious woman, Your Majesty. Serving as teyrna to a small but important port of Ferelden suits me well." Ellie paused, then added, "My choice of husband also suits me."

"And you suit him. Is it not so, Madame Mac Tir?"

Ellie smiled. At least in this she could be genuine. "I hope so."

A secretary interrupted them to bring the Empress a message. Celene read it, expression unchanging, then put the note aside. After a moment, she asked, "Are you still friends with your king, Madame Mac Tir? Do you still admire him, as you must once have done?"

She must be careful now, Ellie knew. Not even a tic of expression should give her away. "I love Cailan as a subject loves her liege, Majesty. I look upon him in friendship as I always did."

"Then you should know that he is in danger." Celene lifted a hand. "No, not in any mortal danger. All of Val Royeux knows that they would earn my undying vengeance if any of your party were to be harmed. It is his pride that is under threat. I would like you to ally with me in seeing that even this does not suffer at the whims of my countrymen. Will you help me play a little game?"

Baffled, Ellie replied cautiously, "I will do whatever is necessary to help Cailan, Empress."

"Marvelous. I ask because I have heard something else about you, Madame Mac Tir. I have heard that you are very good with a sword."

* * *

17 August, 9:29 Dragon Age. Champs de Concourse, Orlais.

It was over. As Cailan walked away, Ellie turned back to the crowd and realized at last what it was that they were shouting. The Orlesians were cheering wildly, and many of them were calling out a name.

"Aveline! Aveline! Aveline!"

It was then that Ellie understood the empress' game. Aveline of Orlais was a female warrior who entered the lists of a tournament, though at the time it was forbidden for women to do so or to serve at all in the famed chevaliers. Aveline kept her helmet on and defeated all challengers, even a prince. When her identity was revealed during a fight, the jealous competitor killed her, goaded on by the jeering crowd. The warrior got her own revenge when that Orlesian prince became emperor himself, knighting her posthumously and turning her into a national legend. Celene knew that the one thing her countrymen would enjoy more than an Orlesian victory was a bit of theater paying homage to one of their heroes, with the role of Aveline played by the wife of the Hero of River Dane.

At their breakfast meeting, Celene had informed her that several Orlesian nobles were preparing a grand mêlée and had challenged Cailan to enter the competition. Over his guard's objection, Cailan was determined to accept. Ellie knew better than the empress that Ferelden's young king would never back down from a chance to flaunt his skills in battle. The nobles, Celene revealed, intended to cheat, stacking Cailan's lists with bought men who would throw the fights and cause the king to become overconfident. They then intended to put their best fighter, Ser Reynaud Agen, in the final against Cailan, hoping that he should humiliate the young king in front of the Orlesian crowd.

When asked why noblemen would resort to such tricks when they could achieve the same ends by simply having Agen challenge Cailan directly, Celene smiled and replied that Orlesians preferred subtle games. "But no one plays better than I do, Madame Mac Tir. We will have a bit of fun, you and I. In the end, Fereldan honor will remain intact, and the people will love it all the more."

Ellie had seen no other choice but to agree. Even if she could persuade Cailan that the Orlesians intended to cheat, it would only make him more determined to beat their champion. Keeping her identity secret would not only allow Celene to run her little game, but would also permit Ellie to keep an eye on things, to overhear competitor gossip without giving herself away as Fereldan, and thus to recognize any threats to Cailan that were more dire than a strike at his pride. It was for that reason only that Alun agreed to the plan as well.

She was given an Orlesian squire to help maintain her facade. Celene had Ellie fitted out with a set of silverite armor, battered enough to look like the kit of a hedge knight or a lesser nobleman's son, and a helmet with red plume. Ellie insisted on using her own sword, a dwarven weapon forged in Gwaren, but accepted an unpainted Orlesian shield. Chantal was drawn in to the conspiracy, arranging late-night practices for Ellie since it had been several weeks since she had practiced and her arm was dull. She would not be any help to Cailan if she lost in the first round. Bryce had to be brought into the plan, since he would have to make excuses for her. Ellie waited until the morning of the competition to tell him. He made one last attempt to dissuade Cailan from competing, and when that failed, came back to Ellie and told her to go ahead.

Ellie was entered as a last-minute addition, with the sponsorship of some country relative of Celene's. After easily defeating her first several opponents, she began to suspect that the empress had bought off competitors on her behalf. Nevertheless she saw the same weaknesses in the other fights, and it accorded with what Loghain had told her about the chevaliers and Orlesian gentry. Only nobles and knights fought in such contests, and these wanted above all to outdo each other in their own strict traditions. This made them conservative and predictable. In contrast, the strength of Fereldan warfare since the rebellion was in its flexibility. Rebel forces had been forced to improvise and then improvise again in order to survive, and Loghain saw that they never forgot those lessons. Bryce was a product of the same experience and had hired an Antivan trainer to supplement Ellie's lessons. In her practices first with her father and then with Loghain and Cauthrien, they were always trying to outwit one another. The chevaliers would have done well to learn from their own bardic fighters, but their honor would not allow it. Loghain would be pleased to hear that this hadn't changed.

Whether by Celene's design or chance, not all of the fights were easy. Ellie struggled first against a young nobleman in splendid white-painted silverite armor and again when facing the only other woman in the competition. The white knight had also studied Antivan techniques, and in the end Ellie beat him by sheer luck. The other female competitor was simply hungry to prove herself. This very desperation was her undoing, but Ellie did not take the round from her gladly. Nevertheless she was not at all sorry to humiliate Ser Reynaud. The great bull of a man took a long time to beat. He sorely did not want to lose to the mysterious upstart who refused to doff his helmet. Ellie was younger, however, and her long practices paid off in endurance. Finally Agen also was compelled to yield.

The noblemen who had arranged for Cailan's humiliation must have been very nervous at that point, but in at least one respect they had calculated accurately. The Fereldan king had won all his contests, too, and not all of these were weak contests. By the time he faced the mysterious red-plumed knight, Cailan's confidence could not be shaken by a slender challenger. Ellie could hear him laughing with his squires as he prepared to face her.

After only a few minutes of fighting, he was not laughing anymore. Ellie had to bring all her speed and wits to bear. Cailan had been trained by Loghain, too, and it showed. She did not need to beat him, and in fact she intended only to let him show well for himself and then she would yield. This was not in Celene's plan, but Ellie had no wish to defeat Cailan. He had shown well for himself and deserved to win, and he was her sovereign. In an overconfident moment, however, the king rushed her and Ellie was forced to bring up her shield. It took Cailan in the face, staggering him and drawing blood. Seeing the blood and Cailan struggling to rise, she decided that it was time to end the farce.

"Enough, Cailan," she said, stepping back. Dropping her shield, Ellie removed her helmet and shook her hair free.

The crowd had been cheering what they thought was a new Orlesian champion. When Ellie revealed herself, they fell silent in bewilderment. A few from the court recognized her as one of the Fereldans. There was a murmur of discontent and confusion before someone took up the name of Aveline. Before long the rest of the crowd joined in, clapping and throwing flowers onto the tournament field. The empress had been right. The people recognized that there was a game afoot, and quickly forgave the fact that a Fereldan had won the tournament after all. It was obvious, the crowd assumed, that the Fereldans were but paying homage to the great Ser Aveline d'Orlais.

Ellie watched Cailan walk from the field, then turned to scan the cheering crowd. Among them she saw only one pair of eyes that were not fixed on her. All of Val Royeux nobility was acclaiming the new Aveline, but Empress Celene's eyes never wavered from the retreating Fereldan king.

* * *

9 Kingsway, 9:29 Dragon Age. Denerim.

When Ellie first caught sight of them from the deck of the ship, Gareth was perched on Loghain's shoulders. He spotted her, as well, and began to kick so hard that Ellie thought Loghain would surely have bruises on his cheeks and shoulders. It was Gareth, too, who broke through the crowds on the quay and met her first, Cutha right behind him. Catching Gareth up in her arms, Ellie held the three year-old fast and rocked him, then turned to shower his cheeks with kisses until he laughed and pushed at her face to defend himself.

"You came back, mamma," he said, grinning from ear to ear.

Ellie laughed, though tears also sprung to her eyes. "So it seems. Did you miss me?"

Gareth nodded, though just as she had predicted, he then gave her a fierce Loghain scowl. "Don't do it again, mamma, okay? You went away too long. I didn't like it. Don't do it again, okay?"

"I know, pet. I know. I won't do that again, not for a long time." Her eyes met Loghain's across the top of Gareth's head.

Stepping forward, Loghain leaned in sideways, slipping an arm around her waist and giving her a kiss that was longer and more intense than he usually allowed in public. Releasing her, he said, "We'll hold you to that promise."

Ellie smiled and shook her head. "You won't have to. I wanted nothing more than to come back."


	22. Chapter 22

6 Guardian, 9:30 Dragon Age.

Gareth slipped under the tablecloth and crept along the floor, waited for an opportune moment, then scooted quickly to the next table. It was lucky Anora had wanted so much food.

It was his fourth birthday, and while the idea of a party at the palace had been exciting in theory, in the end the room was full of adults and it was all a bit dull. The elven kids from the servant quarters weren't allowed to come, nor the officers' kids because not many were nobles. There were a lot of nobles in the city for Wintersend, but nobody interesting. Habren Bryland had called him a mouthy brat, and that was fine by Gareth, since she was a horror that couldn't be put to words at all. Connor Guerrin would have been alright but he was stuck to his father's side. Uncle Fergus was mostly hanging around with Oswyn Sighard and ogling girls, and da was off doing some soldier duty. So when his mother thought Granna Eleanor was watching him and his gran thought the opposite, Gareth saw his chance. There were lots of places in the palace to hide and play if he could just get out of the banquet room.

He paused to watch several pairs of feet pass by and giggled quietly at the sight, but reminded himself that any minute he could see his mother's heeled boots and then the jig would be up. That got him moving again. It was like his da showed him when they went into the forest the summer before. Gareth wasn't allowed to shoot at anything then, but da had taught him how to be quiet and avoid bumping into things or stepping on sticks that might alert the animals that you were coming. The tricky part would be the stretch between the last table and the door. It was all in the timing. When a servant came in with a heavy tray, the door was left ajar and Gareth made his dash. Once he was in the hallway, he ran until he was around the corner, then stopped and looked back to make sure no one was following. No one emerged from the banquet chamber. Success!

The gleeful laughter he was trying to suppress was cut off completely when Gareth turned to run down the corridor and smacked straight into a tall figure staring down at him.

* * *

Loghain slammed a hand on the table, relishing the look of fear that his prisoner tried to stifle but couldn't. The templar had believed that the Chantry would protect him, but after a week of detention and numerous interrogations, doubt was beginning to take hold. They had to get some answers out of him before the Chantry actually did get wind of that one of their knights was being held in Fort Drakon. Loghain had used up all his favors with the Revered Mother. Nevertheless if he could prove that the Chantry was harboring traitors, he might have something more useful than her gratitude.

"I know you are the printing master," he said, leaning towards the templar and forcing him to look him in the eyes. "The black is on your fingers. More than this, Ser Leffert remembers you, and remembers that you were the printer's apprentice at Tewellyn. At some point you turned from printing homilies and catechisms and began using the old press to put out treasonous matter. By now you realize what a mistake that was, Chesley. Do not compound it by toying with me. Tell us where the press is now."

The templar lowered his eyes, trying to avoid looking at Loghain. He had been formal and sullen, but the tension was obvious in the small facial tics and in the clench of one fist around the fabric of his dirty prison tunic. His hand gripped the fabric and loosed, gripped and loosed. To Loghain's surprise, a tear crept out of the corner of the man's eye. This might be easier than he thought. He would talk, Loghain could feel it.

Rather than talking, however, the templar sang. At first it seemed to be nonsense, then Loghain began to pick out words in what sounded like Orlesian. "Trop malamem m'anet un tems d'Amor..." More tears fell as he sang further.

Loghain caught the man's arm and hauled him around, nearly causing his chair to come off balance. The guards standing nearby watched without interfering. The general of Ferelden's armies rarely attended prisoner interrogations, but when the matter was treason, it was his due. "I didn't come here to listen to Orlesian drinking songs. Tell me where the press is."

The templar sang a few more lines, ignoring Loghain but by then weeping profusely. "Ni anc pensei aver talen d'amar,.. Andraste forgives. Andraste will come for me. Beautiful Andraste, do not forsake me."

The guard captain stopped Loghain as he was about to bull at the templar some more. "It's no good, your grace. It's like I told you when you come up here. He's quiet and then he raves and then he's quiet again, and all weepy like. All about Andraste and the dragons. The way he talks, you'd think she was his tart and not the holy prophet. Meaning no disrespect to the Maker's own."

"Celibate like most templars, I wager, and dreaming about the only woman he can without breaking his vows," Loghain spat out with disgust. "These crazy bastards despise my daughter for ruling Ferelden but dote on their female martyr." Suddenly he remembered something Anya had said, about why she refused to take lyrium any longer even though it made her joints ache to be without it. He turned to the guard captain. "Has he had any lyrium since he's been here?"

The captain frowned. "Now where d'you suppose I would get any of that, Teyrn Loghain?"

Smiling, Loghain nodded. "Good. Very good." His expression turned serious as he moved back to Chesley, who sat huddled forward in his chair. Loghain tapped at the templar's cheek to get his attention. "Eh old boy? Lyrium. That is what you want, isn't it? Some nice lyrium to make the bad dreams and silly songs go away. You can have it. All you have to do is tell me where you moved the press. We know it was you. The warehouse manager on the quay identified you. He thought you were storing Chantry things down there, and didn't know you were operating an illegal printing press. Someone tipped you off before we got there. The flyers have appeared again, however, so we know that you only moved it. Tell me, and you'll get your lyrium."

Silence. Frowning, Loghain moved back. "We'll see how long he lasts. His symptoms are bound to get worse. You have your orders, Captain. No one but me sees him, and no word to the Chantry sisters of his presence here. I realize it's irregular, but..."

Behind them Chesley began to sing again, weeping more loudly. "Ni per beutat, ni per nuilla rico... Andraste will strike down the whore in Denerim. She is coming for you!" The templar was staring at Loghain now, his glassy eyes fixed. "She will strike you down! The dragon is coming for you!"

Loghain's fist flexed. The "whore in Denerim" was likely Anora, though some of this group's writings referred to the throne of Ferelden generally with that term. They wanted an Orlesian-Tevinter empire, ruled by the White Divine in Val Royeux and not the magisters. As for the dragon, Loghain refused to think about that. "The press, Ser Chesley," he repeated quietly. There was no use in abusing the man, much as it would bring him satisfaction. The addiction would tear him up more soundly than fists could. The tactic worked for the Chantry, so it could work for the crown, too. "Tell us where the press is and you'll get your lyrium. We may even let you go if you agree to give testimony."

The teyrn departed with a nod to the guard captain. Though it was past suppertime, for once Loghain came home before his wife and son. Eager at the chance to be the bachelor again at least for a short while, he took bread and cheese to his study and laid out some maps, keeping his glass of wine carefully away. Ellie had found some good specimens the summer before while in Val Royeux, and he had to admit that for that alone the trip could not be called a waste. The rarest pieces were historical maps of the old Tevinter Empire. She had found an entire folio of them in an old scriptorium. The old empire had been vast, so there were detail maps that encompassed many different lands including Ferelden. Every time Loghain pored over them, sometimes using a Qunari magnifying glass, new details he had missed leapt out at him. What was surprising was how little had actually changed in the placement of settlements or their names. Before they cast off their shackles, the old Alamanni had become more Tevinter than Fereldans liked to admit.

The maps bore dragon symbols to mark those places where the creatures had been sighted or killed. The sight of them reminded Loghain of the templar prisoner. The organization he called the Dragon Society used this mark as symbol of the new empire they wanted to see built, an Orlesian and Andrastian empire. Occupied as he was with military matters, Loghain had turned the investigation almost completely over to Howe. The arl kept finding new evidence and new suspects, not only in Amaranthine but in Denerim and Highever. They were on the trail of others in Redcliffe. Rendon had taken to the work with relish. Nevertheless he would have to remember to tell Howe that he should not destroy any maps he might come across in the traitors' papers. If they were so interested in Tevinter and Orlais, they might have old maps like this, too, which would make for good comparison specimens. No sense in letting good maps go to waste, made by traitors or not.

Loghain was studying Rivain when his family returned. He heard what sounded like a small argument between Ellie and Gareth, then Ellie ordering the boy into his room. Bachelor reprieves were always short, Loghain thought with a sigh as he looked up to the sight of his wife, cheeks red and eyes blazing.

"Your son," she began as she paced, finger pointed accusingly at Loghain. "Your son thought it would be a fine idea to slip away from the party when no one was looking, and then _Cailan_... Cailan took him to the top of the watchtower without telling anyone where he was. I searched and searched..." Ellie put a hand to her forehead, and Loghain thought he might have seen actual steam coming from her. He stood and stepped over to her just as the imaginary steam turned to actual tears.

Grasping her arms, Loghain felt that she was trembling. "Calm yourself, Ellie. Tell me what happened."

Ellie pressed her eyes closed, biting the tears back. It took her a moment before she opened her eyes and continued, "I searched everywhere. You can't imagine what I thought when I couldn't find him in all the usual places. None of the guard had seen him. _ None._ Then I went out into the courtyard and happened to hear him laughing, and when I looked up and saw that Cailan had him up on that tower... I can't tell you..."

"He's fine, no? Nothing happened." Loghain guided her to a chair, taking a seat next to her. "Cailan knows how to evade the guard. He probably figured he was teaching the boy something useful. He used to do things like that himself when he was a boy." And he would no doubt be pleased with himself to have hurt Ellie in the bargain, Loghain thought, controlling his own anger lest it upset his wife further.

"Nothing did happen," Ellie repeated, nodding her head and sounding unconvinced. She sat quietly a few moments before she laughed, shrugging in embarrassment. "It was just this crazy thought I had when I saw them. I was so frantic and then... It's just that Cailan has been so angry with me since the incident in Orlais. You're right, it was nothing. But Loghain, you have to talk to Gareth. Somehow you have to make him never, ever do anything like that again."

Loghain leaned forward and kissed her forehead, squeezing her hand. With a half-smile he replied, "Elissa, Gareth is a young boy, and he is your son and mine. He's just getting started."

Nevertheless the young boy would have to be punished. Ellie filled in the details, and then Loghain went to Gareth's room. The four year-old was kneeling at his toy chest, fiddling with a wooden puzzle set out on its lid. He didn't look up when his father entered, and he was stoic when Loghain took the strap to him. Gareth's frown was simply a bit deeper as he returned wordlessly to his toys. Loghain sat watching him.

"Gareth, come over here." There was a pause before the boy complied, stopping a few paces from where Loghain sat and not looking up. His dark brown hair had been trimmed, curling softly around his face and a little longer on the neck. With his eyes downcast, the long lashes he had inherited from Ellie were especially visible. As his baby softness was receding, however, it was apparent that the nose was going be his father's. _You can't win them all_, Loghain thought wryly. Finally he spoke. "I didn't punish you for your little adventure. That was more the king's doing, though I take it you wormed your way out from the party all on your own. I punished you for lying to your grandmother, which caused her and your mother a great deal of worry. Do you understand?"

The younger Mac Tir nodded silently and sniffed once. Though Gareth was sulking, Loghain was nevertheless pleased that there were no whining protests or attempts to justify. Smiling gently, Loghain reached out to draw the boy closer to his knee. Stroking the back of Gareth's head, he went on, "I'm very proud of you, my boy. You are not just my son, you're also my heir. Do you know what that means?"

Gareth lifted his eyes, and the sulk turned more thoughtful. "I get Gwaren when I'm bigger."

Smiling, Loghain nodded. "You'll inherit my title, that's true, though it means more than that. Do you remember who you're named for?"

"Granda Gareth. He died in the war."

"That's right. My father was a man who wore no title until the last minutes of his life, but he was worth more than all the titles and all the knights in Ferelden combined. He was brave, incredibly brave. There were people who depended on him and he never turned his back on his duty, even when it cost him his life. That's where you come from, Gareth. Don't forget it. I know you're young and can't understand yet, but you'll always carry responsibility and that means you can't act like others can and get away with it." Loghain paused, knowing that his words were likely going over the boy's head. He smiled and patted Gareth's back. "So you saw the watchtower, did you? I should have taken you up there myself."

The four year-old allowed a cautious grin. "It was really high up, da. I could see the whole city and the ocean. And then I saw mamma way down on the ground. She looked like a doll." He giggled at the memory, his funk lifting.

"So she told me. She was much less pleased about it all than you were." Loghain hesitated. "You've never been to the top of Fort Drakon, have you, lieutenant? I was going to take you with me on my rounds tomorrow anyway, as a surprise for your birthday. If we have time, we'll go to the top and then you'll see what it really means to be high up."

Ellie was not happy that Gareth's sudden fancy for heights should be twice encouraged, but it was rare that Loghain took their son along on his rounds of the arling's guard outposts, and thus she didn't interfere with the plan. The horseback ride around Denerim's outskirts took most of the day and the trip to the top of Fort Drakon had to be put off to the next. Gareth found it all the more exciting for the delay. His son's joy was the best reward, but Loghain was also secretly pleased that he had managed to upstage Cailan so soundly.

Father and son returned home from that outing just past midday. Loghain ate with the family and then departed for the palace. He hadn't seen Cailan since before the birthday party, and had a mind to tell the king just what he thought of the watchtower stunt. Cailan's guard was not admitting anyone, they informed him. When Loghain brushed past a red-haired woman in the hallway heading towards the king's quarters, he understood why he had not been admitted. She was a young commoner, the daughter of a prosperous moneychanger, and well known to be the king's current favorite. The paramour gave Loghain a coquettish smile as she passed, seemingly unperturbed at the glare she received in return. It did not escape him that the banker's daughter was a slightly shorter, more petite likeness of Ellie.

Loghain continued down the hallway and found Anora in her study. Impatiently the queen accepted his demand that Erlina leave the room. He gave the departing Orlesian a look that was no less withering than he had reserved for Cailan's bedwarmer.

When Erlina was gone, Anora spoke first. "I'm glad you came, Father. I have something important to discuss with you."

"Do you know who Cailan is entertaining for 'luncheon'?" Loghain asked, putting sour emphasis on the Orlesian word used by the more abject sort of Fereldan noble.

Anora was tight-lipped. "Yes. That's not what I want to talk to you about."

"And were you aware of his little escapade with my son during your party? You should have listened to Ellie and hired the jugglers. Palace decorum or no, that would have kept the boy happy. As it was he had to stand for examination by Eamon. Even I would have bailed from that."

"Eamon?" Anora sounded startled. "What do you mean?"

Loghain flopped down in an easy chair and put one boot up on the end table. "Yes, Eamon. That hairy blighter had the nerve to pull Elissa aside and ask her if she was absolutely _sure_ that Gareth was not Cailan's bastard. I swear, Anora, one of these days I'm going to raze this whole place to the ground. I should have done it long ago."

Anora's face was white. "What did Elissa tell him?"

Loghain chuckled. "She said, 'Eamon, have you seen my son?' Then called Gareth over." Loghain laughed more heartily, slapping his knee in satisfaction. "This nose is good for something, anyway. It shut Eamon up, at least. He's obviously starting to worry about an heir. You don't take this seriously, do you, Anora? Don't look so startled. It's just Eamon up to his old tricks. He was always nosing around Maric's affairs, too, but I've got plans for him. Two can play that game."

"Unfortunately I have no choice but to take it seriously."

When Anora moved around her desk, eyes distant, Loghain sat up and removed the propped foot from its place. He leaned forward. "Tell me what's bothering you, Anora. I'm always the last to know and it's beginning to tire me."

Shifting her gaze to him, the queen took a breath. "I need to put Gareth into the succession as the royal heir. We have to move quickly. I would wait until the Landsmeet, but I can see that we do not have even that much time."

All traces of laughter were gone from Loghain's expression. "What in the name of Andraste are you talking about?"

"Haven't you wondered why Eamon is here for Wintersend, Father, and brought Connor with him? He usually waits until summer to travel. He has plans for the Landsmeet, too, he and Cailan. They have been meeting together and I know why. They are going to ask the Landsmeet to confirm Connor as royal heir. I won't be able to stop them, but I can provide an alternative. Connor is the son of an Orlesian, whereas Gareth..."

"Hold it." Loghain stood, coming around to face his daughter squarely. "This is nonsense. You haven't borne a child yet, but you're young. Why would Cailan take a chance that his own issue might not inherit the throne?"

Anora's expression was flint. "Isn't it obvious? He has been trying hard to produce a bastard, but even that is not working." She took a breath. "You need to think clearly now, Father. Cailan may yet get his bastard, but there is never going to be a legitimate royal heir. You and I both have to accept that. He is forcing my hand now and I need your help." She reached out to grip his arm. "_Please. _ I'm already having the papers drawn up, but I'll need your support to win over the Landsmeet."

Loghain shook his head. "Not good enough. I kept my mouth shut about the little marriage arrangement you made for me, more or less, but I want to know what is going on. Tell me why you are so convinced that you and Cailan can never have a child."

Moving away, Anora put her hands on her hips and closed her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was small. "You can figure it out for yourself, I'm sure, Father. Please don't make me spell it out for you. Leave me that much dignity, at least." There was a long silence, then Anora turned to look at him. "Speak to Elissa, will you? It will be up to you to convince her. She doesn't trust me any longer."

Anora refused to elaborate, and Loghain was forced to leave her with his questions bouncing off a stone wall. These were the sorts of occasions that he regretted his children taking after him. As he was leaving, Anora called him back. "Please also take care of this guest who's enjoying our hospitality up in the fort, before the Chantry finds out about him and it blows up in my face. Remember, Father, that while you and Rendon are off chasing wild-eyed scribes, we might better be eroding any support they might find in the Bannorn."

Loghain's thoughts were swirling as he returned home, and later as he sat with Ellie and Gareth at dinner. He could guess what Anora meant about a legitimate heir, but did not want to form the thought in his mind. If he let it take hold and become real, he might have to put his hands around Cailan's throat and not let go.

Ellie could see that something was troubling him, Loghain knew, but she did not press him about it and retired to her own chambers after Gareth was put to bed. It was some time before Loghain found the mettle to go to her. Ellie was in night clothing and sitting at her dressing table. She watched patiently in her mirror while Loghain slowly paced behind her.

"Anora wants to publicly name Gareth the royal heir," he blurted at last. "I don't think we have a choice. Cailan refuses to sleep with her and he's plotting with Eamon to name Connor instead." It was better if the words just came out fast and hard, skimming the surface like a rock on water. "The Landsmeet will have to confirm it, but if we move now, Anora will have time to secure the banns' support before then."

When Loghain chanced a look at Ellie, she had gone still and was staring at his reflection. She formed the word quietly. "No."

He had expected this answer and moved to cut off further protest. "We don't have a choice, Ellie. Gareth may never actually take the throne, but we can't take the chance that Connor might have a claim. If Eamon succeeds at this, he won't withdraw Connor's claim even if Cailan does produce a real heir. He has always wanted a piece of the crown. Cailan is just going along because he believes Eamon's stories, and to spite me. An Orlesian king, yes, that is all we need."

"No." Ellie remained seated, facing her mirror. "No, Loghain. No, no, no. I will not let this happen. I will not let you do to Gareth what you..." She stopped abruptly.

Loghain looked up, eyes narrowing. "Say it, Ellie. What did I do?" At her silence, he stepped forward, grasping her arm. "You won't let me do to Gareth what I did to Anora. That's what you meant to say."

Ellie nodded once. "I don't know how you and Celia could have done it. They were babies and yet you planned their lives out for them, giving them no choice at all. I won't put Gareth into that corner. He will have more than four years of freedom."

Loghain tried to keep his anger measured, but mostly failed. "Ah, Lady Cousland speaking now. Free spirit and temptress of princes. Where did your father's idea of a child's freedom land you, Ellie?"

It bit her, and Loghain could not deny that this was a satisfying sight. Nonetheless Ellie also kept her voice calm. "You are right, of course. I was foolish. I dishonored myself and my family, and we all continue to pay the price for my indiscretion. But we were talking about Gareth, not me."

Her acceptance of his insult defused his anger. Backing off, Loghain ran a hand across his head, calling up the picture of Gareth's face as he listened to the lecture on responsibility. Another image came to him, of his small daughter looking out the window of the Gwaren estate into the courtyard where the servants' children were playing a game of rounders. She would sometimes watch them, but never joined in. Loghain had never asked her why she did not. He was wrapped up in his own affairs, in the reconstruction of the teyrnir after the war, but he also knew the reason without asking. The daughter of an elevated farmer's son and cabinetmaker's daughter had been a queen in the cradle. Anora's humble origins meant she had had to work all the harder to prove herself. She had not even had four years of freedom. Yet neither had Gareth, not really. Loghain's father had chosen to protect Maric, and thus had chosen the price that both he and Loghain would have to pay. Gareth was born with the price still on his head.

Turning back to Ellie, he spoke in a low voice. "I didn't choose the betrothal for Anora. It had to be, just as Rowan's marriage was something that just had to be. You have no idea how precarious those early years were. Orlesian expatriates pleading at Maric's door and nobles jockeying for power, the Landsmeet always one stray word from an armed brawl, Orlais sending assassins. We're still there, Ellie. The surface may be a bit calmer, but it's all still there. We have to secure Anora's rule now and into the future. We have no choice. Eamon is going to do this and I have to stop him."

"What about Maric's bastard?" Her voice was thin. Loghain could hear that she was weakening, and was trying to grasp at something that might still prevent this pass.

He shook his head. "Another Cailan, this one not even trained to rule? That is what you're suggesting as an alternative?"

In response Ellie turned back to her dressing table, sat silently a few moments, then leaned forward and put her face in her hands. There was defeat in the gesture, and fear. Loghain approached her, kneeling down and putting an arm around her waist. He spoke earnestly. "I will protect Gareth, I swear. I won't let anything happen to him, nor to you. We have never shrunk from our duty, neither Cousland or Mac Tir. We can't do so now. You know I am right, Ellie."

She said nothing further, only stood, slowly doused the lamps and climbed into bed. Loghain watched her silently, finally undressing and joining her in the bed. He was still trying to think of something comforting to say when Ellie moved to fold herself into his arms and closed her eyes. She said no word and was soon asleep. It was long after that when sleep finally came for him.

* * *

2 Drakonis, 9:30 Dragon Age. The Burnt Hills, Redcliffe arling.

Loghain waited, observing the two-story cottage from cover of the trees as the sky became grey with pre-dawn. When his men, a small hand-picked cadre including Alun Marwell, signaled that they were in place surrounding the picturesque forest clearing, Loghain moved foward. He went silently, low to the ground and heart beating as it always had on such missions since he was a boy. Several men followed with him. They broke the front door lock quietly. The printing press was in the center of the main room, just as the templar had said it would be, with stacks of fliers piled up around the room. The ashes in the hearth smelled fresh. Loghain waved Alun toward the stairs and Loghain followed, silent as a soft breeze, just as his father had taught him.

He did not use stealth later on when they dragged the prisoners, three men and a woman, through the streets of Redcliffe village and up to the castle gate. Quite the opposite. Loghain wanted a spectacle, both as an example and so that there was no way for Eamon to hush it up later. The arl himself was still in Denerim, which was also according to plan. Let Eamon whisper in Cailan's ear all he liked. Loghain had some whispering of his own to do.

He was received by a flustered Arlessa Isolde, who assured him that the prisoners would be examined and tried as soon as her husband returned home. Loghain took no chances and charged his own men to guard them. He did accept Isolde's hospitality for the night.

The little bird that Rendon Howe had delivered him and which Loghain had installed in the arlessa's service came to his chamber that evening. Since he locked the door after her, the other servants would assume that she had come for his bed, but that pretext would have to stand. It sickened Loghain to think that Maric must once have accepted such an offer, producing the bastard that he had then pawned off on Eamon. He pushed the thought away.

"You look well," he told the maid, Linna. "I told you that this life would suit you. Did you bring the arlessa's letters?"

"Yes, your grace," she answered, producing the correspondence from her pocket. The maid's hands were shaking and she avoided Loghain's gaze, but as he leafed through the notes, Linna looked up and spoke again. "There's something else, Teyrn Loghain. You won't see it in those letters 'cause the arlessa is keeping it quiet, but she's trying to find a new tutor for Connor."

"Oh yes?" Loghain muttered, not terribly interested. Isolde's letters were also mind-numbingly dull, inane ramblings about this or that noblewoman's salon and a great deal of boasting about her son. "They had some Chantry brother, I thought? It figures. If the arlessa talks about anything more than her precious son, it's her precious Maker."

"Yes but, you see, she doesn't want a Chantry tutor."

Loghain stopped his perusal, regarding the maid. Perhaps there was something interesting here after all. "She said that?"

"Yes, ser. Said it plain, she doesn't want no Chantry." Linna stirred nervously and met Loghain's eyes. Warily she asked, "Do you know any mages, your grace?"

* * *

_Author's note:__ The templar's hymn is taken from a chanson by the Crusader troubadour Gaucelm Faidit, known for women and song as much as for religious fervor. It seemed fitting. Also, for those who are bothered, please be aware that the views of my characters on corporal punishment are not necessarily mine, however in my opinion they are appropriate to the setting. -A._


	23. Chapter 23

13 Drakonis, 9:30 Dragon Age. Denerim.

Loghain found Anya in the solarium, mending a pair of Gareth's breeches. For a moment he was struck at the banality of a mage spending her free time trying to keep up with his son's destructive way with clothing. The subject had never crossed his mind, but he would have expected mages to spend their idle hours burning things or mumbling in arcane tongues.

Cutha was lounging on the hearth rug and lifted his head briefly when Loghain entered, then returned to his nap. Anya did not look up at all. "Her ladyship is at the Chantry."

"I know."

"And the little master is with his new tutor. Don't know what you want that dwarf for. He'll be putting funny ideas in the boy's head."

Loghain crossed his arms. "I am not looking for my family. I came to speak with you, if I might get a word in."

There was a twitch at the corner of the mage's mouth. "Me? What d'you want with me, your grace?"

"I have an errand for you, Anya. It is very important and there is no time for delay, so I'll have none of your grumbling and protest. You need to go to Redcliffe and apply with the arlessa there to become governess to her son."

The hand holding her needle stopped. "Go to _Redcliffe_?" she asked, incredulous. "I have a charge here already. I know you don't think much o' me, lordship, but there's no call to send me off there."

"Didn't you hear me? This is important, and not a banishment. The arlessa is quietly seeking a mage to tutor her son, and I need to know why. Find out the reason and you can make some excuse and come back, or I shall call you back. Didn't you say you owed me a favor? An Amble keeps her promises, that's what you said."

"Amell," Anya corrected, frowning. "I did say that. Didn't expect it'd end up something so odd."

Loghain came around and sat at the end of the settee opposite her. Regarding her steadily, he softened his tone. "I would rather not go into any detail, but by doing this you may be helping Gareth a great deal. Trust me when I say that this is of utmost importance."

The mage relented a little, and drew in a sigh. For a few moments both sat silently while Anya pondered and Loghain waited. Finally she asked, "She's wanting a mage in secret? I can think of only a few reasons for a peculiar turn like that. She wants a blood mage to worm inside someone's head, in which case I'm no good to her. Or the boy has shown he can do things he oughtn't be able to, and she means to hide him. Have I sussed it, your lordship?" She turned her gaze on him.

"Isolde is too stupid to plot with maleficarum. Eamon might do such a thing, but she warned me not to tell him, so in this she is acting on her own. You'll find out when you get there, I expect. If it turns out that Connor Guerrin is in fact a mage, that is all I need."

Anya put down her sewing and laced her fingers over her barrel midsection. She sat thinking. Finally she went on, "If the idea is to keep all this quiet, your grace, I can't see that I'm your answer, either. You know yourself that the templars watch me like a cat watches dinner. You'll have to beg them for travel papers for me, and they'll be askin' why. So will Arl Eamon, then. He knows I'm bound to her ladyship."

"I have to take that risk."

"But what if you don't?" Anya gave Loghain a pointed look. "There's people I know, your grace. Don't ask me to name 'em because I won't, but I'll speak for you. What you need is an apostate. Someone the templars don't know about, who can move freely and not cause notice in Redcliffe neither. Give me a few days to see if I can't find another way."

Loghain wanted to protest, but for once the mage was making sense. He did not want templar scrutiny any more than she did, and Anya was right that Eamon would be suspicious. Someone with a secret to hide might be more pliable than his wife's bond mage anyway. Absently Loghain picked up a shirt from the mending pile and brushed the fabric through his fingers. There was a small streak of blood on it. "The boy has more scrapes and scars than I do," he muttered, lip curling in a half smile.

Anya smiled a little and nodded, beginning to draw her needle once again. As Loghain rose to go, she spoke up. "I might have taught the little master myself, if things had been different. Wanted to be a teacher once. That was before my mum told me that I couldn't get a job in the village or I'd be found out."

"For being a mage."

"Aye, for being a secret mage. Apostates they call us. Traitors to Andraste." Her face was expressionless, but there was a hard glint in her eyes as she focused ruthlessly on the stitching. "The only way to be true to Andraste is to be a slave. Seems ironic, don't it?"

"I suppose it does. Still, you're not the only one who must sacrifice because of things outside your control."

"Nor the only one who has to hide, am I?" Anya looked up and their eyes held.

"No, not the only one. Politics makes traitors of us all." His tone turned quietly emphatic. "See to your errand, Anya. Quickly."

Loghain was in the foyer lacing up his boots when Ellie came in, looking flustered. Her cloak was half torn off. Jumping up, he crossed to her. "What happened?"

"It was nothing, a bit of a scrape with a cutpurse in the Market District." She dropped some parcels onto a bench. Her auburn hair was mussed and her cheeks ruddy from the damp spring air. "Not my purse even, though I may have been his mark and Duncan was in the way. So of all people, he cut a Grey Warden's purse. Duncan felt him do it and shouted, then I tried to grab him and he ripped my cloak. Good thing I left Cutha behind or he would have lost an arm, or worse."

Loghain frowned. "I thought you were attending the opening of the pilgrims hostel at the Chantry?"

"I had some things to get at the market afterward, and happened to see Duncan there. Do you know, he took off after that cutpurse and actually caught him. I had no idea he could move that fast. I expect the thief didn't, either." Ellie laughed as she unclasped the ruined cloak. "Duncan was hauling him off to the seneschal when I left."

"Loitering in the market and catching pickpockets. There are your fearsome Wardens."

Ellie ignored his grumbling, but sobered. "Actually, before this happened, Duncan did ask me if you had gotten any reports of darkspawn raids. I told him you hadn't mentioned any."

"I've heard no such thing. I thought Grey Wardens could sense darkspawn. Shouldn't he be telling me?"

Her cloak shed, Ellie approached and leaned against him, coiling her arms loosely about his waist. "I don't know that it works that way, though Duncan did say that he had an ill feeling. He's been to Redcliffe just now, too, recruiting for the Wardens. I reminded him of some prospects in Highever and he said he would go there next."

"If the Orlesian has been traveling so much, it's no wonder he's got an ill feeling. Tell him to shoot his own food and stay away from the inns." Loghain grinned and brought a hand up to caress Ellie's cheek. He had arrived home from Redcliffe late the night before while the house was asleep, but rose early to bring breakfast to Ellie's chambers. The sight of his wife still in bed had stirred other appetites. The tea was chilled through by the time they were ready for it. The warm pressure of her as they stood in the foyer was stirring thoughts of a second round, and Loghain struggled to remember that he had other things to do that afternoon.

Ellie clasped his hand, kissing the fingers. "You shouldn't joke about such things, Loghain. Maker preserve us from such a menace as the darkspawn. Nor is Duncan is some young upstart, or Orlesian for that matter. He was born in Highever, he said, and his family only moved to Val Royeux because there was no work for them here."

"Only the privileged Fereldans got to move that freely under the occupation," Loghain answered with a scowl. "His family must have been very tight with the painted lords. Once Orlesian, always Orlesian."

"I can see you're not going to be reasonable."

"I am perfectly reasonable. So long as he stays away from my men, Duncan can nab thieves and pick off your father's best fighters as he likes. And regale you and Cailan with his tall tales. He's obviously got nothing better to do." Loghain firmed the arm around Ellie's waist, drawing her in and kissing her with thoroughness left over from their morning activity. He pulled back with effort. "I must go see Anora and report of what I learned in Redcliffe. I have promising news."

"Something about Gareth?" she asked anxiously, holding his forearm to keep him from withdrawing.

"It could help us, yes. I am going to sort this out, Ellie. I promise you. Now let me go. We'll talk about this later." They kissed again briefly before he turned, reaching for his own cloak on the way out the door.

Anora was not in her study, and a maid told him that the queen had caught a chill and was in her chambers. Loghain was alarmed. His daughter typically brushed off illnesses and kept on with business as usual.

"It's just a few sniffles, Father," she said, voice thick with them. "Don't fuss. Thank you, Erlina." The elf had brought tea, which she poured for both of them, exchanging dubious glances with Loghain before withdrawing.

Loghain waited until she was gone, then studied Anora anxiously. She had loosed her hair, and was settled in on a bank of pillows, her face puffy and red. "It's the stress wearing on you. You work too hard."

"I do what I must and work no harder than you do. Now stop talking about me. What did you find in Redcliffe?"

Taking a seat at Anora's bedside, he gave a report of the arrests and of what his maid agent had discovered about the arlessa's search for a mage tutor. "Isolde doesn't want Eamon to know. Stupid bastard is here prying into your private affairs while his own are falling apart and him none the wiser."

Anora coughed into a handkerchief and sat a while, thinking. "It won't take long for him to figure it out when he gets home. We'll lose our advantage if he does. I will try to hold him here in Denerim if I can."

"If Connor is a mage, he can't even inherit Redcliffe, let alone be appointed royal heir." He told her briefly of Anya's suggestion to find an apostate to pose as Isolde's secret tutor.

Anora frowned. "That is risky, Father. But perhaps we have no choice. We should also be prepared for the possibility that Eamon has other things up his sleeve besides putting his son on the throne. You know that Cailan listens to whatever he says these days." She paused, regarding him solemnly. "Eamon would have free rein with him if I were out of the way."

Loghain's eyes narrowed. "You don't think he would try to harm you?"

"Or convince Cailan to set me aside. Try to disgrace me somehow. Eamon has numerous possibilities open to him, and I cannot afford to discount any of them."

"The boy is a fool and a wastrel, but Cailan cannot be that stupid. The banns know who holds real power and they trust you more than him. Without you, he is nothing."

Anora was caught by a fit of coughing that forced a pause. When she was done, she took a sip of tea and sat back on her pillows, sighing. "Cailan needs allies, but that is why he is so thick with Eamon right now. He cannot count on Highever because of your marriage, and the Bannorn are ever unruly. There is more. Cailan is looking outside Ferelden for friends, as well."

Loghain was rubbing the back of his neck. Absently he answered, "Yes, I know. Still thinks he's the great diplomat, Maric's legacy and all that rot. I overheard him talking about a trip to the Free Marches and one to Orzammar, probably to see that princess who writes to him on occasion."

"I don't mean either of those places. He is working with the Orlesian ambassador to draw up a mutual defense treaty with Orlais."

This news had a predictable effect on Loghain. His expression darkened, then he gestured dismissively. "What sort of idiot notion is that? It gives him no help in the Landsmeet. Nor will something like that ever pass the vote while I live. I will not commit troops to Orlesian folly, nor allow them on Fereldan soil. Never."

"It will help him if he can convince the banns that he has accomplished something not even Maric could: Final peace with Orlais. He will say it is a symbolic treaty and costs us nothing unless the worst befalls us. Then Eamon will chime in with scare tactics, reports of pirates and of Qunari and stirrings in the Imperium. False reports or true, it doesn't matter. Since he has an Orlesian wife, it will benefit Eamon if Orlesian influence becomes more accepted. I doubt this is all Eamon's doing, however. I think Empress Celene is advising Cailan, in secret. I have not gotten my hands on the letters, but with the things Elissa told you about their time in Val Royeux, it all makes sense."

Loghain's scowl deepened. That Orlais had once again wormed its way into the palace in Denerim, that was infuriating. That they should have done so through the king himself, Maric's son, was something he could never have imagined possible. Had Cailan listened to nothing he and Maric had taught him? A whoremonger king, a king reliant on Anora, that was a nuisance but manageable. Cailan with political allies of such ruthless mettle as Celene, allies he was actually heeding, was a different story. Loghain's mind turned. He was supposed to be the one who came up with strategies, but the most obvious on this field was not one he could consider. For all his follies and outrages, he was Maric's son. Rowan's son. _Keep him close and he will betray you, each time greater than the last..._

"Father." Anora brought him out of his brooding. "Keep a clear head. We have to survive this Landsmeet, that is all. Cailan's moods are like the wind, and in another year things may look very different. The Orlesians are distant allies and secret ones for now, but not so with Eamon. I have to figure out a way to pry a wedge in between them so that Cailan loses his voice in the Landsmeet. I am not sure yet how to do that."

An idea began to form in Loghain's mind. "Leave that to me."

Anora's brow knit. "You're sure?"

If one strategy was cut off, there was always another. Eliminating Cailan was not necessary if he was sufficiently weakened in the Landsmeet. On his own Cailan would not try to take on Anora. Without Eamon's influence pushing the matter of succession, there might be no need to bring Gareth into the mess at all. In one stroke, Loghain would be able to protect both his children and keep Cailan from doing something terribly foolish. They would all benefit, his family and the country. He nodded, speaking more emphatically. "I'll handle it."

After a pause, Anora relented, waving a hand. "Very well, Father. I trust you to be careful and discreet. Before you go, there is something else. I have not been idle while I've been lying here. Take these books of account and have a good look at them. You may want Elissa to see them as well, but I leave that up to you."

Loghain retrieved the ledgers from her nightstand. They were all inscribed in Iain Tallard's spidery hand. The minister of the treasury was as scrupulous as he was loyal, and both of them knew to trust his figures. Loghain was about to depart when Anora was wracked with another coughing spell. He turned back and sat at her bedside while she pressed a cloth into her mouth and let the spasms take their course. Tentatively he reached out and brushed at her hair, though his hand never actually touched it. She smiled at him, embarrassed, and rasped, "I told you not to fuss. I am alright."

"You sound like your mother. She was always taking care of everyone else, but if it came to her own..." His voice trailed off as he realized that it had been Anora, not he, who had nursed Celia in her final days. He had gone to Denerim and left his wife and daughter to fend for themselves. The topic was not one they broached often, and he quickly changed the subject. "I'll send Ellie's healing mage over. Don't let her spell you, if you can avoid it, but she seems reasonably good with tonics and the like. They haven't killed any of us yet."

Anora smiled. "Thank you, Father. Give Elissa my best."

"You should come see us more often. Gareth would like it. So would Elissa, I am sure." He was making the last part up, and apparently Anora knew it.

"Thank you, but Elissa and I have learned over the years that it is best for us to keep a certain distance. However I'm glad that you and she... Well." Father and daughter regarded each other silently. They were at the impasse once more. Simple remarks on family life were fraught, for both of them. Resting her head back, Anora closed her eyes. Loghain made to go and almost did not hear her speak again. "All of this would have been different if I could have won him."

He rested back. She spoke of Cailan, naturally. The two of them had been friends in their youth, Anora's only true friend, but despite his own betrayals, Cailan apparently nursed a resentment of Anora that would not let go. Maric had a streak like that, sulking and capricious and rash. Since he had never turned it on Rowan, Loghain had been able to forgive him for it. Cailan, however, had run out of indulgences long ago. Anger bit at Loghain's mind, but for his daughter's sake he kept it in check. Studying her, he realized then that she had spoken of her husband's resentment in connection with Ellie. "You don't blame Elissa?"

Anora opened her eyes. She looked weary, and sadder than he had ever seen her. "No. She has done everything I asked of her, save one."

"What is that? If we can help you, Anora..."

She shook her head, blonde strands catching on the pillow. "No. I was wrong to ask that of her. I couldn't see what was right in front of me. The archery gloves you gave her, the ones she still wears though they've been patched many times over, I ought to have guessed what that meant. They're so beautiful, Father. It was nicely done."

Loghain was baffled, and felt as cornered as when waiting for an ambush, wary of moving in any direction. He was late to collect Gareth from his lessons, but he sat, rubbing slowly at the old scars on his hands and waiting. Anora had no more to say, however. She murmured that she would sleep. Rising, Loghain touched her shoulder lightly, then departed with the account books under his arm.

The youngest Mac Tir was in a study room off the library, scrawling doodles in his exercise book and chattering to an elven maid who had obviously been roped into child-minding duty when the tutor left. Seeing his father, Gareth abruptly cut off the soliloquy and jumped up to greet him. The elf looked relieved. Loghain dropped a few coins in her palm and followed his son out the door.

"You had lessons, too?" the boy asked, pointing at the account books as they walked.

Loghain smiled. "Of a sort. Did you behave yourself with Balthur?"

Gareth shrugged noncommittally, half-running to keep up with his father's long strides. Both sets of boots, big and small, echoed in the palace hallways. "He's got a funny beard."

"I'll give you that," Loghain answered drily. The dwarf had not been his choice, but Ellie had interviewed dozens of candidates and preferred the unconventional. True to his heritage, the dwarf had negotiated a fee higher than even the greediest of Chantry scholars. Ellie's non-traditional ways were expensive. "It's as we told you, your mother will instruct you in writing and history. Master Balthur will teach you your sums, some geography, and to use the common tongue. Maybe some natural sciences down the road."

"When am I gonna learn to fight?"

"When you're older. You can't even lift a sword yet." Loghain gestured at his exercise book. "Fighting begins in the mind, Gareth. My da was a sergeant at arms, but he taught himself history and botany. He was as educated as any nobleman, and it made him a better man."

"Okay." Half a beat later, the boy added, "I'm hungry."

Chuckling, Loghain grasped Gareth's free hand with his own. "Balthur doesn't ply you with sweets as Anya does, eh lieutenant? I am glad to hear it. There is some hope yet that you won't end up spoiled rotten."

After eating lunch with Ellie and Gareth, Loghain locked himself in his study and spent the afternoon looking over the account books Anora had given him. He emerged only to take some letters up to the post. There was a message rider loitering, and he agreed to make the trip to Amaranthine and to leave that night.

It took two days to receive Arl Howe's reply. The news was bad, worse than Loghain expected. He sat in his study, turning the letter over and over as he tried to decide what to do. Celia would have wanted him to sort out such matters himself, but not Ellie. She wanted to be in the thick of it and she was thriving there, yet it was in times like this that he was nostalgic for a wife who didn't want to know. The distance had not served him and Celia well in the long run, but it made for fewer complications day to day.

It would also be less complicated if Ellie had Anora's cool head, but that too was not to be. His wife was seated at the desk in her private parlor, writing letters in a shaft of afternoon sun, when Loghain found her. By the time he was done with his report, Ellie had turned in the chair and her eyes were blazing. "Where did you hear this slander?"

"Never mind. Someone reliable and in a position to know."

She shot up from the chair and faced him. "I will _not_ never mind and I don't believe a word. Tell me where you heard it."

Loghain crossed his arms and regarded her, considering. Finally he replied, "It comes from Arl Howe."

"Rendon?" Ellie's anger turned to confusion. She took a step back, eyes falling as she struggled. "I don't understand. My father was always careful."

"Howe is a friend of the family, is he not? Your father's oldest friend. He has no reason to lie, though plenty of reason to be concerned. Apparently Howe approached Bryce, concerned that Amaranthine's yearly tribute was being increased again, and your father admitted it."

Ellie had moved back to her desk, and sank into the chair. "My family is broke," she repeated, voice numb with disbelief.

Loghain moved a step closer. "The sums he borrowed from the crown were apparently not enough to cover his losses, so he had to turn to the Orlesians. When I saw the loans in the royal account books I wrote to Rendon asking for confirmation, but I had no idea Bryce was in hock to the Orlesians, too." He paused, weighing, before asking, "You knew nothing of this? He did not bring you to his meetings with the bankers in Val Royeux?"

"No."

Loghain paced away again. His wife would not want to hear this, but she had to. "Your father is an amiable man, Elissa, but therein lies the problem. He cannot say no, not to you any more than to a man with his hand out. His books have always been thin."

"That's not true," she answered hotly.

"It is. This will be good for you, Ellie, if you can take it in. You're just like your father and if you don't learn the lesson now, you never will. Then someday when I'm gone, Gareth will be sitting where you are." He stopped, watching her. Ellie sat with fingers working on the fabric of her shift, but she was listening, so he pressed on. "Bryce tries to be the great man, the bonny teyrn loved by one and all. He won't raise taxes because that would make him unpopular. The Bannorn pressed him for bigger, riskier trade ventures to sell their grain, and he caved. But the merchants needed new ships, so he financed them, too, at whatever rate they named. Prices fell and ships sank, and there is the end of it. He wasn't half as pigheaded with his own liegemen as he was with me, haggling out your bride price to the last copper."

That drew a baleful glare. "Get out."

Shaking his head, Loghain moved toward the door. He looked back, gesturing toward her. "Write to your father, Ellie. Ask him if it isn't true. While you're at it, ask him what favors he supposes the Orlesians will want from him when he falls behind on his payments."

An inkwell came hurtling towards his head. Loghain sidestepped it, cursing, and slammed the door behind him as he left. That had gone about as well as he had expected.

Anya was in the hallway, as she almost always was when he and Ellie were doing something unseemly. She gave him a bland look, but spoke up as Loghain was about to push past her. "It's no good, m'lord."

"What is no good?" he snapped. "I am in no mood for riddles."

"The favor I was to do for you. It's no good. People are afraid. You're a powerful man, your grace, and if you was to turn in an apostate, that'd be the end of them."

Loghain sighed, leaning against the wall heavily. This was the last thing he wanted to hear. After his talk with Anora, the need to have a mage he could trust in Isolde's household was more important than ever, and one of these apostates who feared him would exactly what would fit the bill. Turning a sharp gaze on the mage, he shoved a finger into her doughy skin just below her neck. "If you won't tell me who these cowards are, then pack your bags, Anya. No protests this time. You will do exactly as I say or I swear, you're going back to the Tower."

He expected an outburst, but got only a scowl in return. "Don't take that tone with me, Lord Mac Tir high and mighty. I'll go to Redcliffe and I'll do what you ask, but I'm doin' it for the little master, not for you." With that, Anya turned her back and marched off. Somewhere behind him, he heard a chamber door slam. _Perfect, _Loghain thought as he retreated. Now all he needed was a tantrum from Gareth and the maids on strike to make a complete evening.

As requested, he left Ellie alone that night, but when he came out of his chamber the next morning, she was waiting. Her face was peaked and she looked to have slept little. The sight of his wife contrite and miserable rid Loghain of his anger. "I'm going to Highever," she said quietly.

He nodded and stepped closer. Cautiously he lifted a hand and touched her cheek. She closed her eyes and leaned in to his touch, so he stroked the cheek and then pulled her into an embrace. "I'm truly sorry, Ellie," he said, voice muffled by her hair. "We could help a little. I won't get involved in his debts, but if they need household funds..."

"No." Ellie pulled back, avoiding his eyes. "No. It can't be that bad."

Loghain made no protest. "There is something else. I am sending Anya away. It will be only a short while, but it's important."

"I know. She told me. She said it is something to help Gareth." Ellie glanced at him before looking away again. "Tell me about it later, Loghain. I can't right now." He nodded, accepting that. Ellie turned, heading for the breakfast room where their son could be heard singing at the top of his lungs. After a few paces she stopped and turned back. "I'm taking Gareth with me to Highever. It's been some time since he's been and with Anya gone, it's best he come with me."

"Alright," Loghain agreed. He waited until he heard her telling Gareth to pipe down, then followed. Even if she was not throwing things at him, it was safer to meet on neutral ground when matters were this tense between them.

The post that afternoon brought several letters from Gwaren for the Teyrna, and two for Loghain. There was a dispatch from Alun Marwell, who had stayed behind in Redcliffe along with a few other of Loghain's men to keep an eye on the Dragon Society prisoners. The guardsman had earned his trust and Loghain had confided to him about Isolde's search for a mage. Reading Alun's letter, Loghain could half believe the Tevinter saying, that Andraste had the ear of the Maker but mages had the ear of Andraste. The Maker seemed to have heard Anya's prayers, at any rate. Alun reported that there was an apostate, some said a blood mage, who was being kept under templar guard until he could be transferred to Denerim. _Didn't your lordship want such a mage for Lady Isolde? _he wrote.

His lordship certainly did. Loghain set his other letter aside unopened as he penned a quick reply with new orders for Alun and his other men. Surely the templars would not turn down an offer from soldiers of the Teyrn Loghain to accompany them to Denerim. The roads were so dangerous, after all. With a satisfied chuckle, Loghain sealed the letter and took it immediately back to the messenger to be sent on to Redcliffe with all haste.

It was late that evening when Loghain remembered the second letter. It proved to be a report from Barforth Hold, Gwaren's westernmost outpost, situated at the edge of the Korcari Wilds. The captain begged to report that Chasind villagers were attempting to enter the teyrnir, seeking refuge from attacks on their villages. They claimed that the attackers were monsters who looked like men but killed without mercy and spread pestilence on the land itself. The captain discounted this as an unlikely tale that could be put down to Chasind infighting. He had turned the wildmen back and had no other news to report.


	24. Chapter 24

12 Cloudreach, 9:30 Dragon Age.

"Gareth." There was only silence, so Ellie tried again. "Gareth, sweet, are you going to move sometime soon? I think my rear might be fixed to this chair."

The boy did not allow his mother's complaints to distract him from his examination of the chess board. It was his move and his queen was in jeopardy, so he was being cautious. It once had seemed a good idea to have him observe chess matches between her and Anya, for though it meant being peppered with questions throughout the game about why she was moving as she did, the second set of eyes to ward off Anya's cheating was worth it. In the end, Gareth took to the game as one born. His matches with Loghain were long, silent affairs punctuated by heated disputes and ending in one or the other sulking over his loss. That was usually still Gareth, but he was getting better.

Ellie sighed, stretching, and watched skeptically as the four year-old got up to view the board from the side, leaning with his hands on the table and examining it like his father might do a map. After a few minutes he returned to his chair, sat silently, and at last reached for a piece. Ellie held her breath. This might finally be it.

Just as he was about to grasp the rook, however, they heard a maid answering the door, and a man's voice calling loudly, "Is this the Three Sisters Inn? I had a mind for some ale and one or two of the sisters."

Both Ellie and Gareth exchanged an excited look, jumped up at the same time, and ran into the foyer.

"Fergus!"

"Uncle Fergus!"

Gareth reached him first and had already been swung upside down on Fergus' arm before he released him and turned his attention to his sister. He grinned broadly. "Ah, well if there aren't any tavern wenches to pour my ale, I suppose Smelly Ellie here will have to do." The younger Cousland was now a half head taller than Ellie, his hair a shade darker, but side by side it was obvious they were cut from the same cloth. He lifted Ellie half off her feet as he embraced her and kissed her cheek.

"Fergus, what are you doing here?" As he released her, the siblings exchanged a look. Ellie sighed and answered her own question. "Mother sent you to accompany us to Highever, didn't she? Maker's breath. She knows that Loghain won't let me ride out without an entire regiment of guard as it is."

"Then one more won't hurt, eh? You know how she is. If we all did things the logical way, there'd be nothing left to nag about."

Loghain appeared from the direction of his study. He was in a plain tunic and hose, hair loose after a morning spent in drills and a bath on his return home.

"Teyrn Loghain, hello again," Fergus said in greeting, stepping over to shake his hand. The young man's grin remained, but he straightened up a little.

Loghain lifted his chin in greeting and returned the handshake. "Cousland. You're looking well."

"Ah, muddy, you mean," Fergus returned, glancing sheepishly at the tracks he had made in the foyer. "Sorry about that." Ellie watched her brother and husband, amused that Fergus was as nervous and tongue-tied around his childhood hero as he'd always been.

Loghain was not inclined to be talkative, either, so she stepped in. "And rained on by the looks. Get out of that cloak and boots and we'll have some tea. You rescued Gareth from losing at chess, you know." This provoked sputters of outrage from her son, which Ellie cut off by giving Gareth a little push towards the kitchen, bidding him order up their tea from the cook.

Ellie turned to glance at Loghain, who was still leaning against the door jamb. He didn't smile, but his face softened and he nodded once at her before excusing himself to return to his study. Their argument over the Highever treasury had cooled, mostly because they avoided the subject entirely. Ellie put off their journey north to allow Gareth a little more time with his new tutor, and in the meantime Loghain had been busy with military matters, especially the troubles in the south. It was easy to remain civil when they hardly saw one another.

Over tea, Fergus asked if Ellie had heard the reports. She glanced at Gareth and sent him off to fetch more biscuits. Even with her son out of the room, she kept her voice low. "They thought it was just Chasind squabbles at first, then a Lothering patrol found bodies and a camp that was definitely _not_ Chasind. Afterward one of them took ill and raved, his skin turning black before he died. They think it might be darkspawn, Fergus. You remember the Grey Warden, Duncan? I went to call on him when we heard, but he had left Denerim. He told me he would go to Highever soon to look for recruits."

"There was no Grey Warden in Highever when I left it, unless he hadn't come to the castle yet."

"Some of the other Wardens have gone south to look into it. I'm worried, Fergus." The rumors of darkspawn attack were on the gossip trail, but Ellie had more reason than most to fear. She had not forgotten what Loghain had told her of the witch's prophecy of a Blight in Ferelden. It had haunted Maric, and though he claimed not to believe it, she knew it haunted Loghain, too. The dark circles had returned to her husband's eyes in recent days. It was one more thing that they couldn't talk about.

Fergus waved a hand. "Don't fret about it, Ellie. There are darkspawn raids now and again, and as long as they stay in the Wilds, it works out very conveniently for us. Not so much for the Chasind, though, I suppose."

Gareth returned with the plate of cookies, short the few he had shoved into his mouth in the hallway, which remained only in the form of crumbs on his tunic. Ellie forced herself to brighten a little for her son's sake. "Perhaps you're right. Loghain insists I needn't cancel my trip to Highever because of it. We've put it off too long. If you're up to it, I'd like to leave tomorrow."

"Give me a day," Fergus answered, scooping up several of Gareth's cookies. "I've got some things to buy for Mother."

"Very well." Ellie watched as Fergus and Gareth shoved cookies in their mouth and talked about the trip and about Highever. The young Mac Tir was excited to be going overland. He would not have his own horse yet, but had been learning to ride on one of the royal ponies. Loghain was planning to make him a present of such a pony for Satinalia, though he was holding it as a surprise.

That evening Ellie had a dinner invitation from Lady Bryland, and uncharacteristically, Fergus agreed to go along. After an hour of Habren Bryland's mooning glances and the arlessa's not so subtle comments about how handsome he was, Ellie could see that he regretted it deeply. She made excuses and they left early, walking arm in arm along the muddy paving stones of Denerim's stately Clerk's District, home of the wealthiest courtiers and city home of nobility from other parts of Ferelden. Cutha padded along behind them. The mabari hadn't been received as well as Fergus in Lady Bryland's pristine home.

All in all it was still a genial evening and Ellie decided not to spoil the mood by interrogating Fergus about their family's finances, though questions burned in her mind. She kept to asking him about the servants and about his weapons training. At one point seized by the realization how much she had missed talking to him, Ellie stopped, pulled Fergus into an embrace and kissed his cheek. "I have missed you so, brother. You don't come to Denerim often enough."

"Alright, alright. That's enough slobber now," Fergus replied, laughing. He appeared embarrassed as he pulled back from her, but also pleased. Pulling on her arm, he got them walking again. "I could say the same about you, Teyrna Elissa. You don't come to Highever often enough."

"I've been so busy. Maybe now that Gareth is older, I'll be able to travel more freely."

"And can I expect another niece or nephew soon?" At Ellie's sharp look, Fergus laughed. "Right, you caught me. Mother put me up to asking that."

She smiled, then sobered and walked silently a few moments before replying. "The Maker has only seen fit to give us the one child. Perhaps it is best. Life is complicated for the child of a national hero." _For his wife, too_, Ellie thought, but didn't say it. It was true, but any trouble she might have was nothing compared to what might come on their son's head as soon as the coming Landsmeet.

"More complicated than for the offspring of Bryce Cousland?"

Ellie gave a small, ironic laugh. "Yes, if you can believe it. Growing up, I had no idea that our life in Highever Castle was simple and charmed, but I see now that it was."

"Simple and charmed?" Fergus snorted. "You're getting forgetful in your old age, big sister. And you don't give yourself enough credit. Gareth looks happy enough to me. He's also smart as a whip and sly as an Antivan. Boy'll be running a gaming ring out of your house soon if you aren't careful."

"I dare say. Don't give him any ideas, Fergus."

At an intersection, they paused and Fergus put a hand over Ellie's. "This is where I leave you."

"Oh, you're not staying at the estate, are you?" Ellie protested. "Rattling around in that big house alone with the servants? Come stay with us. We don't have a lot of room but there's a guest chamber."

"Loghain won't mind?"

"Why should he mind? Come on, I'll race you back." Ellie darted ahead a few steps and looked over her shoulder, eyes flashing in challenge.

"In those boots, Smelly? If you fall and break something, it'll be my fault and I'll have to move in with you and Loghain permanently."

"We'll see," Ellie answered with a smug grin, before turning and darting up the hill toward the gates of the palace district. Cutha was up for the run, and barked his own challenge at Fergus before bounding after his mistress. The younger Cousland shook his head, began to lope, then to pick up speed as he saw that his sister was in fact managing well enough in her skirt and boots.

Fergus won by a length, but both were panting and fell on each other as they reached the gates of the residence, Ellie laughing and the mabari doing bounding circles around them both. "That will teach you to call me old," she said, smacking a hand on his chest.

"Ah yes, your wheezing is quite convincing."

The two siblings were still laughing when they reached the doorway, and were met by a stern-faced Anya, who looked them both up and down and asked if they were drunk.

Fergus' business in the city stretched out to two days, and in that time Ellie only saw Loghain for brief moments as he came to collect things from home. He was calling up the regiments of Gwaren men who were garrisoned outside the city, and some of the Denerim arlingsguard as well.

"It's nothing to worry about," Loghain told her, brushing off her questions as she cornered him on the morning of her departure. "They're just on alert. It's a good exercise, if nothing else. See to your business in Highever and it will most likely have blown over by the time you get back."

"And the business in Redcliffe?" Ellie asked quietly. She knew few details, but he told her that there was indication that Connor might be a mage, and that if this proved true, there would be no need to put Gareth forth as royal heir. Though the boy was innocent, Ellie had never wished for anything more fervently than that Connor Guerrin would show signs of magic.

Loghain's tone was confident. "It's well in hand. Eamon is back in Redcliffe, and he's not going to be troubling us at this year's Landsmeet. I'll see to it that he's detained. Now I must go, and you should, too. Your guard is waiting."

They embraced, and in the moment, Ellie found herself wanting more. She resisted his light pressure to withdraw, encircling his shoulders more tightly. The ache of missing him was worse when the distance was emotional rather than that of geography. Loghain made no protest, stroking her hair lightly, but he also said nothing. Ellie had made a point of chasing him down when he withdrew from her, and gradually he had gotten better about letting her do so. It occurred to her that when she was the one keeping distance, however, he never did the same for her.

Stung at the thought, Ellie pulled back. Loghain was about to leave without another word, but turned back, and for a moment she hoped he would say something comforting. "If things in the south do get worse, I want you to stay in Highever. I might need to go down to the Wilds myself, and you and Gareth will be better off there."

Not so comforting after all. What he really meant, she thought bitterly, was that they would be out of his way. Ellie's cheeks colored with anger and tears stung her eyes. "That's it? You don't want my help at all?"

Loghain's tone turned impatient. "What I want is for you and Gareth to be safe. Sort things out with your father or you won't be satisfied coming home anyway. Now I must go say goodbye to Gareth, and then you both should be on your way. You're losing daylight." After he had gone, Ellie heard his low tones interspersed with Gareth's excited chatter. She had no choice but to be satisfied. That was all she was going to get.

As spare as Loghain's company was, Fergus' cheerful and relaxed demeanor made a welcome contrast. They rode out with a complement of five royal guard and ten Gwaren Regulars, and one elated mabari hound. Ellie thought the number of soldiers an embarrassing excess, but with Gareth in tow, she did not put up an argument. Ten was too little to deter bandits from trying their luck at a wealthy party, Loghain insisted.

There was a drizzle as the party set out and the roads were muddy, but by late afternoon they had reached Ornsay on the King's Road. Ellie stood the guard a meal at the Blind Man's Inn, and rented a room there for herself, Anya and Gareth, over the boy's protests that he wanted to sleep out in the rain with the soldiers. Fergus accepted her offer of a room with not a whimper of complaint, though when she retired, he was still in the common room quaffing ale with the officers and playing a loud game of Wicked Grace.

Gareth's long day had made him wearier than he gave on, and in no time he was snoring softly in the large featherbed next to Ellie, Anya snoring more loudly on his other side. Ellie lay a while watching the lone candle burn down, her mind turning between Denerim and Highever.

Late the following afternoon, they had just reached Highever Cross when a message rider caught up to the party. The man made to tip his hat and ride on when he recognized Ellie and reined in, falling in beside her. Fergus rode at her other side, Gareth seated in front of him.

"Teyrna Elissa, greetings," the messenger said, out of breath from his ride. "And Lord Cousland! I knew you was abroad, not when you'd be back though."

The messenger frequented the Denerim to Highever route and Ellie recognized him. "Hello, Trevin. Are you carrying letters for my father? I would offer to take them, but with all these men we'll make slow progress compared to you."

"Very kind of you to offer, m'lady, but no, I'm on urgent business and must deliver these to the teyrn personally. Like as not you haven't heard the latest from the south, if you been on the road."

"What has happened? More darkspawn?"

Falley nodded. "I don't know what's in the letters, Lady Elissa, but I can guess. Talked to the message rider up from Lothering. The guard there met up with large groups of darkspawn getting closer to the village. A whole patrol was wiped out. More of the monsters show up every day, as fast as the guard can kill 'em. They're begging aid and King Cailan agreed. Called an emergency session of his council last night and sent out messengers calling for his armies. They say it could be a Blight coming, your ladyship."

Ellie reined her horse to a stop, and the officer behind her called for the column to halt. "The king is sending troops?"

"More than that. King Cailan's going himself to fight them. Blight or no, it must be very bad if the king is riding to war."

Ellie's mind turned. If Cailan was marching to battle, Loghain would have to go, too. She glanced at Fergus, not able to conceal the worry in her expression even for Gareth's sake.

Rather than be alarmed, the boy's eyes lit up. He was enough of a court child to understand the situation immediately. "Is da going to fight the darkspawn, mamma?"

Before she could answer, Fergus addressed the errand rider. "The king is calling for Highever troops, as well?"

"I expect so, m'lord," Falley nodded. "I was to ride posthaste and not stop."

The Couslands regarded each other solemnly, and Fergus whistled. "Denerim and Highever, too. What are you going to do?"

Ellie glanced about them. The soldiers in their company had overheard, and a buzz of conversation started up. Like Gareth, the guardsmen sounded eager rather than alarmed. _Stay in Highever_, Loghain had told her. After the intrigues at court, Ellie yearned for home, even a home set in motion for war. In Denerim she would just be in the way. Mother could use her support if Father himself was riding out, as he was bound to do for a royal summons.

The company was waiting on Ellie's word. She stared at the signposts silently. One arm pointed north towards Highever, the other back to Denerim. Eventually she turned her gaze to her brother. He read her choice immediately.

"Off you go, Ser Gareth," Fergus said, easing the boy off. When Gareth was settled in front of Ellie, she reached for Fergus' hand. He grinned at her and clasped it firmly. "Take care, Ellie. Tell Loghain to save us some darkspawn."

Then he was gone, turning up the Highever road with his two personal guard. The rest of the company waited as Ellie watched after her brother a few moments before turning around towards Denerim.

They rode hard and did not stop for the night, pressing through. Gareth finally tired of asking his mother questions about the fighting and eventually fell asleep against her as they rode. It was before dawn when they approached the city.

Loghain found her in the breakfast room nursing a cup of tea, unable to sleep after putting Gareth to bed and washing off the smell of horse. Anya had also stumbled int her bed, unused to such a long ride. The sky was just gaining the pink of dawn.

"I heard the men come in to the guardhouse," he said, keeping his voice low since most of the house was still asleep. "So, you came back."

"I came back." Ellie steeled herself for either rebuke or for indifference, which would be worse.

Loghain regarded her silently a few moments, then some tension went out of his limbs, as though a weight had been taken off. "You needn't have, but I am glad."

Ellie expelled a breath, relieved. She rose and they stepped together, kissing awkwardly. When he released her, she remained close.

"Are you going south?"

"Now I must. Cailan is leaving tomorrow morning, taking the vanguard and the Grey Wardens with him. He ordered me to wait for the eastern armies to muster here before setting off." Straightening, Loghain's voice grew bitter. "It should be the other way around, but he wants to get there first, play Cailan the Savior."

"When will you leave?"

"In two days. Perhaps three." At her frown, he shook his head. "I know what you are thinking, Ellie, but this is not a Blight."

"How can you be sure?" The pit in her stomach was growing. Three days, maybe less. He would be leaving, and if the worst came then that might be all the time they had. "Maric was certain. He was so certain that he risked his own life in the Deep Roads."

Scowling, Loghain replied, "The witch was lying to manipulate us. I could see it in her eyes. She wanted us to gape at her and dance to her tune. Or do you think I am a traitor to Maric? She said that, too."

"Alright. Alright. If you say so." Ellie relented, though she felt no better.

They ate breakfast together and then Loghain left once more. Ellie slept a few fitful hours until the sunlight woke her, and she passed the rest of the morning roaming aimlessly around the house, unpacking and trying to keep from thinking too much. Both she and Gareth were restless in the house, and after lunch Ellie agreed to take him to the palace to see what was going on, accompanied by Anya.

The palace yard was a hive of activity, with a baggage train being prepared with the king's provisions, messengers crisscrossing and royal guard officers directing. As Ellie and Gareth watched, Cailan himself came out. He spoke to a steward, but his eyes soon fell on the Mac Tirs and he approached. Normally the sight of them might have provoked a scowl, but Cailan looked to be in the highest of spirits.

"Elissa! I thought you were gone to Highever. Your father got my message?"

"Your Majesty." Ellie curtsied formally, though as was her wont, Anya gave only a dubious look for obeisance. "We passed the messenger on the road and I turned back. I trust my father has gotten your orders a day or so ago. The Couslands will not fail Ferelden."

Cailan smiled broadly. "He'd better hurry or he'll miss all the fun. And I heard that Duncan was off to Highever, too? What's that for timing?" The king's eyes fell on Gareth, and the two exchanged conspiratorial grins. The boy had never been Cailan's favorite person, but since their adventure in the watchtower they had developed a mutual appreciation that made Ellie nervous. She was about to excuse them all when Cailan said, "Walk with me, Elissa. I need to speak to you privately."

She had no choice but to comply. With a glance at Anya, Ellie left her and Gareth behind and accompanied Cailan towards a quieter end of the yard. For a time neither of them said anything, then the king turned towards her. "This could be a Blight, you know."

Ellie nodded. "I am aware. Your father suspected."

"Just so. I am ready for this. I have never been more ready for anything." Cailan's eyes took on a giddy light and he was caught up in his own thoughts for a moment. They had a harder edge as he turned back to her. "There are going to be some changes when I get back, Elissa. Big ones."

"Your Majesty?"

He smiled again, and Ellie thought that it must be at seeing her squirm. After a long pause, he went on. "Tell me one thing. I want an honest answer and no bluffing this time, no 'Your Majesty' or protests. Did you ever love me, Elissa?"

She met his eyes squarely, and made no effort to soften her tone. "I thought I did. Yes, I loved you, Cailan, in my silly girlish way. Though you have gone on to make me forget why."

Cailan laughed, though his eyes registered hurt. "Very well. You learned this bluntness from Loghain, I take it." Ellie said nothing, and he repeated, "There are going to be big changes. Even after everything you've done, I am still fond of you. I'll do my best to keep you and your son out of it."

"What are you talking about, Cailan?" Her voice was weary. With all that was going on, his threats felt hollow and she was impatient of them. "Whatever you're planning, you won't touch Gareth. If you do, it won't only be Loghain you'll have to deal with. You'll have me and my family."

She expected him to laugh and brush it off as Cailan always did, but he remained serious, and that frightened Ellie more than any threat he could have made. Her blood ran cold at the idea that Eamon or Celene, people who smiled at her, could be whispering threats towards her son, but that was not an idea Cailan could have come up with himself. If either Celene or Eamon wanted access to the throne now and in the future, they would have to find some way to discredit or eliminate the Mac Tirs. They had always counted on the fact that Cailan needed them and he needed the Couslands, but Ellie wondered if resentment over her marriage to Loghain and Anora's part in it was at last tipping the scales. Ellie's mind raced to find some way to get through to Cailan, some ply from their past relationship.

The king had remained silent while she stared, but spoke up again. "Do you know I have a brother? Half-brother, actually."

Ellie's throat was dry. "I've heard."

"From Loghain." Cailan shrugged and took a few steps past her, eyes distant. "There are those who think I should get rid of Alistair, too."

Ellie couldn't believe what she was hearing, that Cailan was actually speaking the words aloud. She shook her head, voice clenching. "You wouldn't. Cailan, you wouldn't. You're not a murderer."

"Nor a schemer, either? Not like Anora." Cailan turned, his brow knit with anger. "It seems I have to be. These people, they think they control me. All of you think that, but you're all wrong. I am the king. I will have a brother, and he'll serve me honorably. It's already done. And when I get this victory over the darkspawn, then we'll see what else I shall have, too." Tone softening, he gestured at her. "Remember what I said, Elissa. Stay out of my way. Now I must go to war. Pray for me." He lingered a moment, wanting a last word from her.

She had only one to give him. "Goodbye, Cailan," she said softly, and turned to rejoin Anya and her son.

By the next day it was settled. Cailan and the vanguard, including most of Ferelden's Grey Wardens minus Duncan, had marched southward. Loghain and the armies of the east would follow the next day. They would rendezvous with the southern lords at Ostagar, the old Tevinter fortress. Highever and Amaranthine would serve as reinforcement. Loghain had decided not to call up the Bannorn other than those closest to the fighting, since the banns were always resistant to royal summons and the threat did not seem to be dire enough to warrant the trouble. Redcliffe would also be left out of it.

Ellie had seen little of Loghain, but the night before he was to march, he came to her chambers after the rest of the house was already asleep. She sat up with one lamp burning, unable to sleep and mind skipping from worry to worry. Husband and wife exchanged a solemn look, then with little preamble Loghain sat next to her on the bed, lifted her nightdress and slid a hand upward to cup a breast. Ellie yielded, lying back. His lovemaking was rough with urgency, more ardent than he had been in a long while. She suspected that he was finally showing her the anxiety that he kept hidden, perhaps also the adrenaline of preparing for battle. Men said that there was an energy in it that fed the appetites. Though she had never been to war, Ellie got glimpses of the feeling from her training exercises. Whatever the cause, there was none of Loghain's usual restraint and care. He pinned her, limbs trembling, and bucked until he spilled into her with a groan. Ellie was not satisfied, but for the moment she accepted that his need was the greater, and was glad that he hadn't held it back.

Afterward he sat propped and she leaned against him, sheet coiled about her. They spoke of the following day's march, and Ellie told him of what Cailan had said to her.

"So the boy is planning a coup, is he?" He sounded amused.

"Cailan has allies other than us, Loghain. He must, or he would not be so confident as to tell me of his plans."

"It is hubris, no more. Think nothing of it."

Ellie was inclined to believe this also, but she was uncertain. "Be careful, love. He kept saying that I should stay out of his way and that he would try to keep me and Gareth out of it, but he didn't mention you at all. It's as if he doesn't expect you to be a problem."

Loghain laughed harshly. "What, you think he would try to get me killed? I'd like to see him try. I should hope I know better than to fall into any trap of Cailan's making."

His confidence calmed her. Perhaps it was only a case of Cailan's hot air. The king had a talent for empty words. As Ellie sat pondering, Loghain reached up to touch her cheek. His voice was tender, and thoughts of Cailan and politics receded. "You've got lines at your eyes now. Strange that I never noticed them before."

Ellie lifted a hand self-consciously to her face. "Don't remind me."

"No, they aren't imperfections. I think you more beautiful than the day I first saw you. You are going to be a handsome woman long past the day you see my age now."

There was a pause, and Ellie could see him studying her face. It reminded her of their wedding night, when once he had stopped to trace her features. She felt the pit of fear clawing at her once again. Loghain could be thinking that he would not live to see her as a woman of his age. She caught his hand and kissed it, tears welling. "Tell me what I can say to make this easier for you. What you're facing."

"Don't say anything. I will do what I must, as I always do. Just let me look at you." He did so a long while, then moved a sheaf of her hair back from her shoulder. "If I do fall, you'll just move on. You're young. You'll remarry and no doubt find a better man than me. See that you do, Ellie. If he doesn't deserve you, I'll have to come back from the Fade and remove his testicles with a spoon."

Ellie laughed, though the tears caught up with it and choked her voice. "Come back to us, Loghain. You have to come back to us. I am sorry for everything, for what an ass I've been. Not that you haven't been one, too."

Loghain laughed quietly, chest rumbling against her bare arm. "We've both had our share of that, it's true." He reached to lift her chin and lowered his lips to hers. Without breaking their kiss for long, they tugged at and discarded the rest of their clothing and lay back together, Loghain moving his mouth to her breast. Cupping it up to its fullness, he slid his tongue along the peak and then drew it into his mouth, eyes closing as he suckled her. Ellie felt his hardness growing against her thigh, and she was slick with new arousal along with his seed when he reached between her legs to stroke her with a roughened finger. There was no hurry this time. On the contrary, Loghain moved with deliberation and Ellie impressed each sensation in her memory. Her mind would slip away, but it always came back to the thought that it might be the last time.

They caressed so long that Ellie came under his touch, but neither ceased. Eventually Loghain pulled at her, sliding underneath to settle her astride him. For a few moments he held her hips fast and rocked up into her with eyes closed, satisfying the arousal they had both built up, then he stopped and opened his eyes once more. A hand slid up her stomach, stroking her skin, and he watched her as she moved slowly.

When they came again, Ellie was tempted to more tears but at war with them was a strange, calming bliss. She leaned forward to kiss him and they rolled, lying side by side and continuing their kiss with at first passion and then gently, exhausted but reluctant to stop. The lamp had burned low when they parted and Ellie rested her head on his chest. As Loghain had asked of her, she said nothing.

The following morning, Ellie took Gareth to the muster grounds outside the city to see Loghain off, accompanied by Anya. He had left early to confer with his officers, but by the time they got there the first of the troops had begun moving out along the West Road.

Loghain had been fitted with the River Dane commander's armor, and he stood with Ser Cauthrien watching the Gwaren men form ranks. Cauthrien noticed them first, and motioned to Loghain to look. Ellie exchanged a smile and nod with the knight, then turned to Loghain. He had knelt down, armor clanking, and grasped Gareth's shoulders.

His expression had been the hard one of command when they approached, but as Loghain smiled at his son, his eyes took on a cheerful twinkle that few outside his family ever saw. "Now then, Gareth, I am off. Behave for your mother. I am counting on you."

Gareth's brown eyes were grave. "I will, da. I hope you kill lots of darkspawn."

Loghain laughed. "Good lad. I hope there are not many waiting to be killed, but we will sort it out." He leaned forward and kissed the boy's forehead, then sat back. Father and son stood eye to eye, their expressions alike. With decision Loghain squeezed Gareth's arms then released him, rising to his feet and turning to Ellie.

She stepped to his side, looping an arm around his waist. "I wish I could go with you. My sword arm is itching."

"Perhaps Anya has a salve to fix that," Loghain replied, smiling. Their eyes held. Finally he leaned down to give her a light kiss, holding her briefly against the cool of his armor. The sound of Cauthrien shouting at the men drew his attention. "I have to go."

"I know. Maker bless you and keep you safe, husband. Please keep an eye on my father and Fergus. Remember what I said about Cailan. Watch him carefully."

Loghain's expression remained gentle, but his tone sharpened. "My task these twenty odd years now. Don't worry, Ellie. Maric's son or no, if he tries anything, it won't be me who gets the worse end."

A clamor of shouts and bows announced Anora's arrival. Ellie stepped away to let Loghain take leave of his daughter. As she did so, she noticed Captain Marwell and Anya standing together, the mage wringing her hands and Alun speaking to her. Ellie could not hear what the guardsman was saying, but in his gruff way he was obviously comforting her. Loghain had wrestled with whether or not to bring Alun with him to Ostagar or leave him to guard his family, but had decided there was more need of him at Ostagar than in Denerim.

As all was at last prepared, Ellie stood with Anora and Anya, her hands on Gareth's shoulders, and watched until Loghain was lost in the long ranks marching down the West Road. She thought of her parents, and of her mother standing in the courtyard of their home watching her father and Fergus march away just as she looked after Loghain. As Ellie turned, her eyes met Anora's.

"He's in the Maker's hands," Anora said.

Ellie knew that in her own standoffish way, the queen was trying to console her. She smiled faintly. "All of us are."


	25. Chapter 25

_In answer to a reviewer question, I have been playing DA2 and enjoying it, but am as motivated as ever to finish The Arrangement. I know I am not the quickest at updating, especially as these chapters are pivotal and have required a lot of thought and work, but hopefully the result is better for it. Thank you all for your interest and readership, and to SurelyForth as always for the beta support. Dragon Age belongs to BioWare. -A._

* * *

3 Bloomingtide, 9:30 Dragon Age. Denerim.

Ellie woke to shouting and the sound of Cutha growling from Gareth's room. Bolting from her bed, she ran to the boy's room and found the mabari tugging at his covers trying to wake him. Crossing to Gareth's bed, Ellie turned up his bedside lamp and reached to shake Gareth's arm.

Anya appeared in the doorway soon after, muttering, "Maker preserve us, another nightmare?" There had been several in past days, a rarity for the young Mac Tir.

Gareth started awake, eyes wide and panting. "Mamma."

"It was just a bad dream, love." Ellie sat and stroked his cheek and the forehead, plastered with sweaty locks of brown hair. She turned to Anya. "Fetch him some water, please." Turning back, Ellie's brow knit with worry. Gareth had rested back and lay quiet, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his blanket.

It had been a week and a half since Loghain's departure. Initial reports back from the south were promising. The king's forces had engaged the darkspawn even before Loghain arrived, but the skirmishes were going well. Highever and Amaranthine would have met up and would be marching by now, but might find their muster was for nought. Still, Ellie could not help but wonder if they had not been careful enough with their stories of darkspawn around Gareth. Since his father had set out, Gareth had been irritable, but was a silent wall when she tried to prod him. _I am raising another Loghain_, Ellie thought, the idea only charming in the abstract. She was outnumbered.

"Do you want to talk about your dream, pet?" she prompted. Silence followed, as she expected. "You're thinking about your da, aren't you? He's alright, Gareth. The battles are going well. He'll write to us himself as soon as he can. Or maybe he'll be back soon, before Satinalia I wager."

The boy turned to look at her, but Anya appeared with the cup of water just then. Gareth sat up and accepted it, took a few long slurps, then let Ellie take the cup and settled back down. She guessed that there would be no more talking, but as Ellie was reaching to tuck in his covers, Gareth spoke up in a small, solemn voice. "I don't want my da to die."

Ellie exchanged a look with her attendant, and Anya slipped out. When his mother reclined against the headboard, Gareth moved closer to her side and she tucked him under her arm. She thought a while about what to say. Her assurances obviously weren't working, but this was little surprise. They sounded hollow even to her own ears. "I want him back, too. Do you remember the game we played when I went to Orlais?"

"The 'magining game."

"That's right. Shall we do it now for him?" Gareth looked up at her uncertainly. Simple ploys to distract or comfort him were not working as well as they used to when he was smaller. The four year-old questioned everything. It was one reason he was so sharp, but Ellie felt a grey hair must appear on her head every time he did it. She persisted. "It helped before, didn't it? A little?" To her relief, Gareth would allow this. He nodded, then turned his head and closed his eyes. Ellie smiled and clasped a small, sweaty hand. "Alright. Do you see him? Picture every little detail. His face, his laugh, the sound of his voice. Concentrate now."

They both did it. The average palace guard might never have seen one of the teyrn's smiles, but Ellie thought of how Loghain looked when Gareth ran to meet him after a long time away. Lines on his forehead would soften and others form at his eyes and mouth as he smiled. The blue eyes that caused people to flinch and wilt could be gentle when he willed them to be, and that is how Ellie preferred to imagine him.

Just as she was getting to the part where Loghain would rise from Gareth and turn to her, Ellie noticed that her son's breathing had deepened. Opening her eyes, she watched him until she was satisfied that he had fallen back asleep, then leaned down and brushed her lips over the place where the dark brown hair curled at his brow.

Carefully Ellie stood and fixed the covers. Cutha lifted his head from where he had curled up at the end of Gareth's bed. The mabari uttered a small "ruff," obviously still uneasy. She knelt down and stroked the black fur. The hound leaned into her hand as she scratched his ears.

"Neither of us can do much about this problem, can we boy?" she whispered. "I'm glad you're here with him, though. That's something."

Back in her own room, Ellie could not return to sleep. She tried to read, then got up and fiddled restlessly around her chamber. At her dressing table, she paused and leaned in to look at her face in the mirror. Loghain had noticed lines around her eyes, and Ellie saw them, too, fine but noticeable. Anya was always slathering creams and preparations on herself, and did have soft, clear skin for a woman her age. She had tried to push the same on Ellie but the teyrna ignored cosmetics as much as possible. Yet if this wrinkling trend were to continue...

Pounding on the front door cut off thoughts of face cream. The housekeeper would normally answer the door, but since she was awake anyway, Ellie pulled on a dressing gown. The visitor's impatient battering of the door continued.

Ellie opened the door to find soldiers there, armed and in full gear. They blocked the doorway and there were more in the yard, twenty or perhaps thirty, some of them moving around to the back of the house.

"Lady Cousland?" one of them asked brusquely.

"That's right. Lady Mac Tir, if you please." Looking around in confusion, Ellie noticed a crest of Amaranthine. "Is my father with you? Are you looking for Loghain? He has already marched south, I'm afraid."

"Oh, we know," the lead soldier replied, smiling.

Ellie had a moment to frown at the odd response before, glancing around, she noticed other leering grins. It was not these that made her afraid, however. The fear came when she saw one young sergeant looking at her with an expression she recognized as pity.

* * *

10 Bloomingtide, 9:30 Dragon Age. Ostagar.

His first sword strike knocked the crude helmet from the genlock's head. Loghain's backstroke removed the head clean, leaving a toothless maw permanently open in a shriek. Shoving the headless body out of his way with his shield, he advanced and dispatched two more, then looked up as he heard the men cheering. What was left of the black mass was breaking up and trying to retreat back into the trees.

"Archers!" Loghain shouted, reminding them that their battle wasn't over. The men knew not to pursue the darkspawn into the Wilds, but no retreat would be allowed without cost. Bowmen, whose ranks had been scattered during the battle, stood where they were and began firing arrows into the backs of the fleeing monsters. Loghain spotted a felled archer nearby and in one movement kicked the man over, sheathed his sword and dropped his shield at his feet. Nock, aim and fire. The motions were ingrained in him from his youth, first taught by his father to hunt their family's food. Some forty years later, Gareth Mac Tir's instruction served just as well for dropping darkspawn.

When there were no more targets, Loghain dropped the bow and retrieved his shield with only a moment's glance at the young face of the dead archer. He recognized him, a Gwaren man who had been posted to Denerim only that spring. There was no time for regret.

"Burn the bodies," he instructed as men gathered around him. "Everyone washes before you're back at camp. No exceptions, Captain." His officer nodded, familiar with the routine. Before returning to camp everyone washed the blood and filth from their weapons and armor, turning the streams that fed into the Wilds black with darkspawn stench. The king's army and Loghain's forces had not incurred many losses, but more than they should have and not only to battle wounds. The creatures spread sickness and a kind of mania that had gripped some men so powerfully that they raved even though there was not a scratch on their bodies. There was no way to rid the camp of the smell and the diseased blood, but they had to at least try.

After washing himself, Loghain returned dripping to his tent to find Cailan and several of his guards lounging there. Cauthrien followed behind him.

The king jumped up. "You fought them? Why didn't you send word?"

When Loghain made no answer, only began to remove his gauntlets, Cauthrien spoke up behind him. "They hit hard but the battle was over quickly, Your Majesty. A messenger wouldn't have reached you in time. I'm sorry."

Loghain shot his second an impatient scowl for indulging the king's complaint. Since the moment they arrived at the ancient keep, Cailan had increasingly exhibited a different kind of mania than fear of the darkspawn. The battles were growing more difficult and sorties more dangerous, but it only made Cailan the more eager. He had accompanied the Grey Wardens to scout that morning or he would have been in the thick of the battle on the other side of the valley. As always, the Wardens who were supposed to be able to sense the creatures were nowhere to be found when they actually attacked.

"What did you find out about the western passes?"

Cailan heaved a sigh and sat back down, propping his foot up on an arms chest. "It's a waste of time, Loghain. We aren't retreating."

Loghain turned, fighting to keep his voice even. "We've been over this. I would like to know that the possibility at least exists for some sort of retreat. Did you or did you not scout the mountain passes as you said you were going to?"

"They're overgrown. It would take more men or more time than we've got to clear them. Anyway, we don't need them. I already told you our strategy here, Loghain."

"You've told me what your Grey Wardens deem a strategy," he answered derisively. "It sounds like a fine plan. Instead of harrying them to retreat to the Deep Roads, you hope to draw every darkspawn out into Ferelden's heart."

"Scared, old man?" Cailan laughed. Loghain cast him a dangerous look but said nothing. A fight would only give the king what he wanted. Undeterred, Cailan went on. "If they are going to attack Ferelden anyway, we might as well meet the darkspawn all here in one great contest. They are drawn to Grey Wardens like dogs to a fresh kill. We have all the Fereldan Wardens here now save Duncan, and if our Wardens aren't enough to draw the archdemon, the Orlesians should arrive soon enough. Then we'll put an end to this and you can go back to puttering with your maps."

Loghain spoke the word with acid. "Orlesians?"

The king's grin widened. "Maker, did I forget to tell you? Yes, Loghain. I sent word to Empress Celene weeks ago. Orlais has far more Wardens than we do, and she also offered the help of her chevaliers. I expect to get word from the border any day now that they've crossed over."

Loghain felt his face purple. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Cauthrien staring at Cailan in disbelief. "Get out," he uttered from clenched jaw.

Without hesitation, Cauthrien gestured at the others in the tent. "You heard the teyrn. Out." Even the king's men obeyed her.

Cailan had got up from his chair and was fiddling in the provision cabinet. As he found the whiskey he'd been searching for and turned, Loghain's grip stopped his arm in midair. The whiskey sloshed but the king managed not to drop the bottle. "What have you done? _Chevaliers_, on Fereldan soil?"

Shaking Loghain's hand loose, Cailan stepped away and opened the whiskey, drawing a swig straight from the bottle. "It's done, and there's nothing you can say or do about it. We don't need them, but it's a gesture of... new relations." His mouth quirked again, the smile not quite breaking, as though he were not yet sure himself if it was a good thing. "You need to get used to this, Loghain. I call the shots. Not you, not Anora. The time of you all scheming behind my back is over. You got Elissa. The rest of Ferelden is mine."

"That is what this is all about?" Loghain's voice was laced with contempt. "There's one woman in Ferelden you can't fuck, so the rest of the country is to fall to either darkspawn or Orlesians, is that it? Have I assessed the situation accurately, Cailan?"

"I'll defeat the darkspawn, Loghain." Cailan was strident. "And I think you know as well as I do that there are two women in Ferelden I can't fuck. One of them only lies down for you, hard as it is to believe. The other I wouldn't bed if she were the last woman in Thedas."

"By the Maker, I'll..." Loghain had started forward but just then his guard poked a head in to announce a messenger outside. Loghain barked at him where he might shove his blighted message. The man vanished, and Loghain rounded on Cailan again. The king stood, arms crossed, his smirk lingering though his eyes were narrowed.

"You'll do nothing at all," Cailan answered. "I'm giving you a last chance to seal your legacy by even letting you command my armies here. Once this Blight is defeated, you are going to leave Denerim and take your pretty wife and young son back to Gwaren to live out the rest of your miserable days. If Anora doesn't like it, you can take her with you. My father made you both what you are, and I can unmake you just as easily."

Beneath the rage, Loghain discovered a mote of surprise. He and Cailan had often argued, but there was little backbone behind the boy king's protests. This time he actually sounded confident, and for a moment Loghain was reminded of Maric when his friend had finally transformed from quavering fugitive princeling and had stood up to the banns. Nevertheless Maric had found his courage facing an army of Orlesian chevaliers, not with an army of them behind him. Loghain kept his voice even. "You may do what you like to me, but I will not let you destroy Ferelden."

"Ferelden belongs to me," Cailan replied, draining the last of the whiskey and tossing the empty bottle on his cot. He then turned to go, but paused at the door and looked back. "I promise you one thing: No Mac Tir will ever sit on the throne while I live."

When Loghain was alone, he fought the urge to break everything that lay to hand. Anger would not help him now. "Sergeant!" he shouted toward the door. The same guard who had been earlier banned now poked his head tentatively past the tent flap. "I need to send a letter to the queen with the next post rider. Do not let him leave without it."

"Post riders ain't gettin' through, Teyrn," the messenger answered.

"Damn."

"Aye, for the second day now. The darkspawn are too thick in the Wilds."

The teyrn waved the man off and paced, considering. Cailan might be bluffing, but Loghain had to assume that he was telling the truth. That oily chamberpot Ambassador de Bruyn had not been in Denerim when the armies left it. The king must have sent him to Val Royeux with the message, even before the south had called for his aid. This was not about darkspawn. The monsters were only a pretext for some other plan Cailan was cooking up, he and Eamon. Loghain's thoughts turned to his agent, the blood mage Jowan. Even if he had been able to call the man back, this showed that more than ever it was necessary to isolate Cailan from him. If they were all lucky, the mage's poison might be more potent than Loghain had intended.

He recalled the last time they had confronted an Orlesian insurgency in independent Ferelden. That had involved darkspawn as well, intelligent darkspawn who were in league with several Orlesian Grey Wardens and the Orlesian First Enchanter of the mage Circle. Maric was drawn into it, but only unwittingly and because he trusted the Wardens. Now Loghain and his men were trapped in a valley fortress by darkspawn while Orlesians, led by Grey Wardens, were about to cross Ferelden's border. It was as though the events of history were repeating themselves in altered form, like they were caught in a maelstrom and had come back around to where the Fereldans once had been twenty years before. Loghain's mind moved uneasily to the witch. She should be long dead, but he had the feeling she was still watching them. He wondered if it was she who was stirring the pot, or if she only dipped her finger in it now and again.

"Fairy stories," Loghain grumbled, angry with himself for entertaining them at all. It did not matter why things were happening as they were. Come what may, he and his men would have to break free of this fortress and soon. If chevaliers had already crossed the border, they could take Denerim while Ferelden's armies were all unaware. Perhaps it was what Cailan wanted. The boy would make a fine puppet king for a greedy empress, and he was reckless and naive enough to believe he would get the better end of such a bargain. Still, the boy and Eamon would have quite a task to contend not only with the Mac Tirs but the Couslands as well, bound as they were by marriage.

That evening and the next morning were taken up by meeting with his officers and mediating trials for desertion. Loghain slept little, pacing in his tent and walking among the men the night through. Only towards dawn did he rest fitfully, and dreamt of Ellie calling to him.

The strategy meeting the next afternoon was delayed because Cailan was nowhere to be found. Loghain paced while Cauthrien stood patiently by. A half hour late, Cailan strolled in with two guard. His face grave, the king gestured for Loghain to step aside. Wisely, he kept a space between them.

"Duncan has returned. You'll want to see him and his new recruit."

"And why should I do that? I do not share your enthusiasm for these Wardens, Your Majesty." He spoke the title with irony dripping.

Cailan ignored the jibe. "You know this one. It's Fergus Cousland."

Loghain looked up sharply. "What? Has Bryce gone mad?"

"Bryce is dead. Eleanor, too, and most of the household by the sounds." There was murmuring in the tent as some of the others overheard.

"This is a poor time for tasteless jokes, Cailan."

"I can hardly believe it myself, but it's true." The king moved away and began to unstrap his gauntlets. "Fergus says he saw Howe men attacking the castle, slaughtering everyone down to the women and children. He escaped with Duncan's help in exchange for a vow to join the Wardens once they reached Ostagar. I promised him that once all this is done, I would lead the Highever forces that are here and go to the north to see about Howe." The king paused, regarding Loghain. "I expect you'll want to join me in that?"

Slowly the teyrn bent, bracing on the table. Bryce and Eleanor dead, all the household, and Highever taken. It made no sense. How could Rendon Howe have accomplished such a feat even if he had wanted to? He was resourceful, but this was madness. Loghain's mind turned, trying to assess the field as was his native talent. Orlesians moving in from the west, darkspawn attacking Ferelden's southern flank, and now this. Howe had suspected Bryce of collusion with the Orlesians. Perhaps he had learned of the chevaliers massing at the border and was taking matters into his own hands.

Loghain straightened, shaking his head slowly. Ellie would be devastated. The thought of her grief, and of Gareth's, made his hands shake. It was shortly followed by another image, however, and one even more chilling: Ellie and Gareth surrounded by chevaliers as once he and his own mother had been. All other concerns shrank next to the white fury this idea ignited in him.

"My lord, I'm sorry but we cannot do anything for her ladyship now." Cauthrien was leaning in to urge him back to the present. "The latest scouting reports from the Wilds are dire. It appears that there will be battle, a large one and soon. It can't be avoided."

Loghain nodded once, forcing his thoughts to calm. "Show me."

The reports were indeed bad. A large mass of darkspawn had broken through to the north. They were holding position, likely massing for an attack, but might arrive at Ostagar as soon as that night or the morning. There would indeed be no way to avoid a confrontation, even if Loghain took his forces to Denerim immediately. If they tried to go around, they could get mired in the Wilds. If they tried to break through, his army might be surrounded.

"This is it," Cailan said, his tone laced with triumph. "This has to be the main body with the archdemon guiding them. Why else would they be waiting to form up?"

"We've seen no dragons in the Wilds," Cauthrien countered.

Loghain watched the debate, his eyes mostly fixed on the cheerful Cailan. Not for a moment did Loghain forget that it was Cailan's doing, and Eamon's, that chevaliers were about to march on Ferelden while they were all occupied with darkspawn. Cailan was not only going to doom them, he was reveling in it. The thought crossed his mind, not for the first time, that they would all be better off if their boy king never returned from these battles.

The close tent had become a cacophony. "Enough!" Loghain bellowed, causing all to fall to silence. Shuffling the papers on the table, he drew forth a large diagram of the fortress and the surrounding Wilds. He paused over it, then reached for a charcoal and began scratching lines. "It is apparent that a large battle is coming and can't be avoided. This is what we are going to do..."

When the meeting broke, Loghain returned to his tent and sat down to a small meal the steward had laid out for him. Although he had not eaten all day, he found that not the smallest crust would go down his throat. For an hour he sat torturing a cup of ale, mind swimming. One phrase kept repeating in his thoughts like a drumbeat: "Ellie, forgive me." He did not even know what he was asking pardon for.

The constant back-and-forth of messengers to his quarters would have been a mercy, but they had fallen silent. Finally there came a scratching on the tent flap.

"Come," he barked.

The tent flap parted and his guard leaned in. "Grey Wardens to see you, m'lord."

Loghain rose, resigned. He was not surprised to see which Warden was standing at his door.

Fergus was pacing, but turned abruptly when Loghain appeared. "You heard?"

"I heard." Loghain inspected the younger Cousland. Fergus looked to have aged a full five years at least. There was a shadow of beard on his cheeks, along with cuts and scrapes not yet healed over. The dark amber eyes that were so much like Ellie's were wild and haunted, bruised with lack of sleep.

"Then you know Howe betrayed us. I'm going back north just as soon as this is done. As soon as the Grey Wardens are done with me. You'll help us, won't you?"

"You saw your parents fall?"

"I didn't..." Fergus stopped, his throat seizing as though he might vomit. He didn't, however, and after a moment went on, "I didn't see them die, but Father's side was opened. We were surrounded and they made me leave them behind. I..." Once again the words broke.

Loghain stepped forward and laid a hand on the young man's arm. "I'm sorry."

After a moment Fergus' head came up. "Howe has to die. I'll do whatever I have to do."

"You're here now and there's a large battle coming. I've also learned that there are Orlesian forces on our western border who will want to take advantage of this chaos. When these things are dealt with, we'll see to Highever. Perhaps there is another explanation for what happened. Your father and Howe had been arguing about Bryce's dealings with Orlais."

Taking a step back, Fergus regarded Loghain with disbelief. "Another explanation? Don't you see what he is trying to do? He wants Highever! I tried to get a message to Ellie but the Grey Warden wouldn't let me go to Denerim myself. I'm afraid Howe's going to go after her next."

Loghain's eyes flashed. The thought had not yet occurred to him, but that was because it was too absurd. "He wouldn't dare. If he does want Highever, he'll just challenge Ellie's claim in the Landsmeet on the basis that she's already Teyrna of Gwaren. She is still heir, but they won't like a dual title."

Fergus shook his head, his mouth twisting. He stared at Loghain as if it was the teyrn who had plunged a sword into his parents. "You're talking about politics when there is a madman killing my family and everyone pledged to us. Our family is yours now, Loghain. You have a blood debt to repay!"

Loghain's voice rose. "I have a country to save, one that includes my wife and son. Do not think that I ever forget it. You can lecture me about honor and revenge later, once that is done."

They were at an impasse and both recognized it. Fergus' face fell. Quietly he said, "The Grey Wardens want me to go through some ritual tonight. It's dangerous and I may not survive it. Please, Loghain, I'm begging you. Get out of here and get back to Ellie. She's not safe. If I die, don't let my family go unavenged."

Loghain's tone eased slightly but remained firm. "If I survive, I will do what is best for Ferelden. I can do no other."

Fergus' hands lifted in a gesture of futility. His voice was weary and bitter. "I suppose it is in the Maker's hands. That's what people say when it's all gone to hell, isn't it?"

"So they do." Their eyes met. Cousland straightened, his resolve returning to him. He said no more.

As Fergus turned to leave, Loghain glanced at the other Warden that had accompanied him but stood off at a distance. It was a young, sandy-haired man, carrying a templar shield though his armor was plain splint. His head appeared to follow a pretty mage that had walked past on her way towards the Circle's tents. Though the young man's back was turned to Loghain, there was a familiarity in his stance and it took only a moment for him to realize who the Warden was. Maric's son was here at Ostagar and apparently snapped up by the Grey Wardens just as Cousland had been. Had _that_ been Maric's great plan to spare the boy taking Chantry vows, or were the Wardens just plucking off all the country's political heirs? At any other time, the matter would have felt momentous. Loghain had too much on his mind, however. That Maric's bastard was in front of him and lost to the Wardens meant little if the country they had once saved from the Orlesians fell to Cailan's betrayal.

By nightfall, no one needed the supposed Grey Warden ability to sense darkspawn to know that the horde was near. Their smell was on the air. Mabari howled and whined in the army camps, but the men were quieter than usual. Loghain stood in his tent while Cauthrien suited his armor. His mind turned over and over, sifting events. Who would benefit from the Couslands being eliminated or weakened? The same people who wanted the Mac Tirs out of the way. The same people who wanted Orlais to return to power in Ferelden. Willing or not, knowing or not, Howe might have become a pawn for them just as Cailan was being used as a puppet. Cailan wanted a decisive victory, something that would give him enough popular acclaim that he could afford to set Anora aside. If there were no more Couslands and no more Mac Tirs to oppose him, so much the better. _Big changes are coming_, Cailan had told Ellie before the armies marched south. _No Mac Tir will ever sit the throne while I live._ Five years before, when he and Anora and Ellie had made a bargain to keep their power and the peace of Ferelden, none of them had ever imagined that Cailan would turn to forces more powerful than their own and turn it all back on them. Loghain heard another voice scratching in his mind, that of the witch. _Keep him close and he will betray you, each time worse than the last. _Of himself and Cailan, which was the real traitor?

When the last piece was affixed, Loghain turned and reached for his sword.

Cauthrien lingered, watching him. The knight spoke little, never idly, but she knew him better than most. "Do you think her ladyship is in danger? Could Denerim fall before we get back?" Loghain didn't answer, and he knew that Cauthrien took this to be an affirmative. Her tone was earnest. "What are we going to do?"

Loghain sheathed his sword and picked up his shield. "We're going to survive."

There was a final strategy meeting with the commanders. The Grey Wardens were late, but Loghain laid out his map and reviewed the night's strategy. He felt an inward calm that he recognized from his time in the rebellion. Everything hung in the balance, but it was when the stakes were the highest they could be that a man found out what he could do.

"It's as I told you earlier," Loghain recounted. "We rely on the same strategy that the Tevinters used against a large attacking force, a classic envelopment. Draw the darkspawn into the valley, then close the door behind them with a flanking army. I am told that darkspawn are drawn to Grey Wardens, isn't that what you said?" His eyes leveled to Cailan, and the king nodded. "Then we use the Wardens as our bait. They and a few of our best troops will form the ground vanguard in the valley, with archers on the bridge and ramparts above. Lieutenant Riven from Gwaren will lead them..."

"I will lead them."

Loghain looked up, his eyes meeting Cailan's once more. He had anticipated this, and had to force himself not to smile. Whoever was at the head of the valley was not likely to come out again even if the pincer strategy worked. Cailan himself had ensured that none of the mountain passes were clear. There would be no retreat behind him. "It's too dangerous for you to be at the front lines," Loghain replied, knowing what the response would be. The more he pushed Cailan not to do it, the more likely the fool was to insist. Cailan was still Cailan, and Loghain knew how to pull his strings. He had had far more practice at it than Eamon or Celene.

"I don't care," the king answered firmly, true to Loghain's hunch. "I'm going to stand with the Grey Wardens in this assault. This is my victory and I'm not going to sit on the back lines."

There was a long pause. Loghain looked down at his map, and went on carefully. No one could say that he had not warned the boy about what his bravado would cost. "Very well, my men will form the flanking force. You'll have to hold, Cailan, possibly for a long time. The trap can only swing shut once most of the darkspawn are in the valley or they'll catch us in the rear and the flanking army will be surrounded. We will need spotters at a high vantage point to signal when the horde is completely in the valley. This tower..."

They were interrupted as the Grey Warden commander and Fergus Cousland entered the courtyard and took their places next to Cailan. Fergus regarded Loghain and nodded once. He looked shaken, the dark around his eyes even more pronounced, but he accepted Cailan's congratulations at completing the initiation ritual of the Wardens with a firm equanimity. This grim-faced young warrior was so different from the gawky young man that had stood dripping in their foyer some weeks prior that Loghain would have hardly recognized him. Yet the resemblance to Ellie was still there, a jolting reminder.

He had been trying not to think of her and Gareth. It was not possible that he would return to a dead wife and child. The Maker would not permit that his wife would lie bloody and ravaged at the feet of attackers, Orlesians or Orlesian puppets, while Loghain was half a country away unable to save her. And yet the Maker had allowed such an outrage before. _Big changes are coming._

The king's chatter was a blur, and Loghain heard himself agreeing to a plan to have Grey Wardens light the signal beacon from the Tower of Ishal. Rage could make one numb, but it could also bring clarity. It didn't matter if the Wardens were in charge of the battle signal, though it might mean they could send his army in to be caught from the rear. An idea was forming in Loghain's mind, and it was better if the Wardens were in charge of that crucial aspect of the battle.

"It's set then," Cailan proclaimed, as though the battle had already been won. "I cannot wait for that moment! The Grey Wardens battle beside the king of Ferelden to stem the tide of evil."

He could not countenance it any longer. Turning away, Loghain saw Ellie in his mind's eye, this time not bloody and beaten but standing. She was not his mother. It would not happen again, not to Gareth, not to any Fereldan child. Ellie would fight, as Rowan once had, and she would not have to hold out for long. Loghain would see to that.

"Yes, Cailan," he answered as he walked away from the assembly. "A glorious moment for us all."


	26. Chapter 26

6 Bloomingtide, 9:30 Dragon Age. Denerim.

She had not even fought them, and then it was too late.

Lulled into hesitation by the fact that these were her father's own liegemen, Ellie was surrounded before she could comprehend what was happening. Only when she heard one of the men say "get the boy" did her fight instinct engage itself. By then there were two men holding her arms, and more came to assist them as she kicked and threw herself, screaming for Gareth. Unlike his mistress, Cutha recognized the intruders immediately for what they were. Ellie's cries were soon overtaken by the sounds of a terrific battle from the direction of Gareth's room.

A blind, wild terror gripped Ellie and, charged with adrenaline, she managed to slip her captors. They caught her again in the hallway, tackling her from behind and pinning her there while in the background men who had had flesh torn from their bones screamed and the mabari growled and yelped as he fought. When the hound was finally silenced, Ellie could hear Gareth crying. He was alive, but as she turned her head Ellie saw men dragging him towards her room. Struggling, he was trying to dig his bare heels in.

"Gareth!"

"Mamma!" A door slammed, shutting off his cries.

"Please don't hurt my son," she heard herself begging. "Please, I'll do anything you ask."

The man whose knee was pressed into her back ground it in more fiercely. "Cousland bitch. We ought to cut you right here."

The lead soldier appeared from the foyer and started barking orders. "Get her up. I told you we don't touch the teyrn's wife, damn you."

Ellie was hauled to her feet and herded along the gore-soaked hallway. As she passed, she saw a lump of bloodied meat lying across the doorway of Gareth's room, visible in the moonlight from the window. Cutha was no longer recognizable as the war hound he had been. He had taken some of Howe's men with him, however. She could see a body slumped against Gareth's bed, and there were men moaning in pain. None of it was comprehensible. The sole and only thing that Ellie knew was the terror of seeing her child torn and broken like that.

When they opened her door and shoved her through, however, she found him crying but unharmed, crouched on the floor between soldiers that towered over him.

"Gareth!" The men parted and allowed Ellie to hold him. She clutched her son tightly, then pulled back. "Did they hurt you?"

"They killed Cutha," Gareth answered miserably through his tears.

"I know."

"Why, mamma? Why? What do the men want?"

Ellie wished she knew. Holding Gareth protectively, she glanced up at the men, trying to gauge what was going on. The sole lamp in the room cast shadows over their grim faces. Others soon entered, herding Anya and the elven couple who had kept house and garden in the past year into Ellie's room. They were the only servants who lived in the cottage permanently, the others coming and going during daylight hours.

"Which one is the mage?" a soldier demanded of Ellie.

The leader interrupted, growling, "Aldric, you stupid ass. She wasn't no elf. It's got to be the old woman."

Aldric seemed to agree with the reasoning. He gestured at Anya. "You the witch? Go heal our men over there. No tricks or it'll go hard on the boy."

Anya shot a look across to Ellie, who nodded once, eyes pleading. With reluctance, the mage accompanied them back out into the hall.

Turning back to Ellie, the lead soldier scowled and pointed at her. "None of this was necessary, you know. We're here for your protection. There's rioting in the city and Teyrn Howe is concerned for your safety."

_Teyrn_ Howe. In the confusion, Ellie barely noticed what must have been a slip of the tongue. Her fear turned to anger. "You have a funny way of protecting us, barging into our home in the middle of the night with weapons drawn. You will all pay for this."

The soldier opened his mouth to reply, but something in what she said put him back on his heels and his mouth snapped shut. He withdrew, barking orders for the men to search the house for weapons.

Ellie stood, lifting Gareth with her, and rested him down on her bed, taking a seat at his side and watching the men tearing through her closets and chests. Gareth's pajamas were streaked with blood but there was nothing to be done about that. Some minutes later Anya returned, pale and exhausted, and sat down next to them. "You alright, ladyship, you and the little teyrn? You're not injured?"

"We're fine," Ellie replied. That was true for the moment, but it was apparent that something terrible was happening. Try as she might, Ellie could not think what. That Rendon Howe's men should attack and imprison them made no sense.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Gareth tugging on her dressing gown. "Is da going to come home soon?"

No doubt he was envisioning, as she could, Loghain's sword cutting a swath through the men tearing up their home. It was a satisfying image, but an empty one. Her husband was far away, unaware that anything more was amiss in their home than the usual scraped knees and quarreling maids. Ellie took a moment to berate herself for being so helpless. She brushed a hand along her son's arm. "It will be alright, pet. Try to sleep."

They spent a long night huddled together on Ellie's bed, with men standing guard at the doorway. More were in the yard. None would answer her questions. At morning's light the housekeeper was made to fix breakfast for al the soldiers, and Anya called again to attend to the wounded. Ellie did not leave Gareth for a moment. He had slept fitfully and woke with bloodshot eyes, mournful when he looked at his mother, sullen when one of the captors appeared.

By afternoon the gardener, under the soldiers' supervision, had removed Cutha's body and buried it in the yard. His wife set about cleaning up the blood. Ellie and the others were allowed to move about the house, though soldiers watched them closely and turned them back if they attempted to go outside. The smell of smoke was in the air. There seemed to be some truth to what the men said about rioting in the city. Ellie kept Gareth close by, bathing him and eating lunch with him in her room. The lead soldier from the night before returned that evening. He was more polite than he had been on the previous night, even apologizing for the death of Ellie's mabari.

"I demand to see Queen Anora," she responded stridently. "And I want to talk to your lord. If you are here by Rendon Howe's order, then he must answer for this outrage."

"Oh, you'll see him sooner or later, my lady," the man replied, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "He said so himself."

The promised meeting came the following day in the parlor. The arl was obsequious and apologetic. "I am so sorry, Elissa. This all is very unfortunate. My men let their zeal get the better of them. Nevertheless their anger is understandable, since they saw many of their fellows die at your family's hand."

Ellie blanched. "What do you mean? What is all this, Rendon? Please just tell me what is going on."

Howe's face fell and he shook his head. "It is all my fault. I should have taken the matter to the seneschal, but Bryce was an old friend and I wanted to give him another chance to come clean himself." He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. "I confronted your father with what I had learned of his traitorous dealings with the Orlesians. He flew into a rage and ordered his men to attack me. We were forced to defend ourselves. I fear the fight did not go well for your family, Elissa. I am sorry. Your father is dead."

There was a silence, then Ellie uttered a laugh that sounded like a sob. "This must be a joke."

Rendon shook his head. "I fear there is more. Your mother was battle maiden before you, as you know. When she, too, joined the fray... We had no choice. Your brother, as well. I am afraid that the Couslands are no more. All but you and your son, of course."

"You're lying."

Howe ignored her and went on. "I was on my way here to give you the sad news when we encountered rioters from the alienage, no doubt taking advantage of the absence of guard due to the war in the south. Do not worry, my lady. As trustee of Highever I am bound now to your protection. I will hold the north until we can settle any claim you or the young Mac Tir may yet make. We can hope the Landsmeet will not hold your family's betrayal against you."

"You son of a bitch." Ellie jumped up, and Howe's men moved to restrain her again, catching her arms. Though her mind had refused to believe it was possible, it was becoming apparent what the game was. With most of Highever's troops gone to the south, Howe had overturned thirty years of friendship and his vows of fealty and hoped to usurp her family's teyrnir. "You will never get away with this. Loghain is going to cut you into little pieces, but only if I don't get you first."

Howe removed a letter from his cloak pocket. "But you see, Elissa I was acting on Teyrn Loghain's authority the entire time. If anyone wishes to challenge that fact, I have the proof right here." He held the letter out, the seal of Gwaren visible on it.

Ellie regarded the letter a moment, then spat towards him, the spittle grazing Loghain's letter on its way to Howe's chest. Her voice was seething. "Loghain was investigating my father, but that is all. If you think that gives you license for murder, you'll find out differently when he and his armies return."

"I think you mean if they return, my lady," Howe answered. "As the Maker wills." His lip curled briefly, then he turned and was gone.

The soldiers released Ellie and returned to their posts. She sat, shakily, and rested her forehead on one hand. Her parents and Fergus, gone. Highever taken. Over and over she examined the phrases as from a distance and tried to force them to sit in her mind. Howe had to be telling the truth. Only if he felt he had a strong upper hand would he have dared to imprison her. He waited now to see if Loghain would return from Ostagar. Gareth could not inherit Highever, but Ellie realized that it was likely that Howe did not know this. Even if he had, it might be too fine a point to matter. Cailan might even be in on it, and in any case would be glad to see her gone. With horror Ellie recalled that he had said that "big changes were coming." He might finally have gotten his revenge for her marriage arrangement, and a more pliable lackey in Highever.

The shadows lengthened around her. Finally Ellie returned to her room and sat down to the dinner the housekeeper had laid out. She said nothing to Anya or Gareth of what Howe had told her. Though he no longer cried and didn't complain, Ellie knew that Gareth was afraid. He had not left her chamber since the first night, and refused to go back to his own even to retrieve his toys and books. It was just as well, for though the housekeeper had cleaned and cleaned, she was still finding spatters of blood in the room. The bedclothes had been soaked through. Ellie tried not to think of her Highever home. When she did, all she could picture was a river of blood pouring through it.

Anya watched Ellie closely while they ate, and later on when Gareth was in his bath, she approached. "What should we do, m'lady?"

Ellie shook her head. "I don't know." Any plan she could conceive of to get out, or to get Anya out to find Anora or other help, ended in her memory of the soldiers dragging Gareth away while she lay helpless to stop them. _Loghain_, her mind called out, willing him to hear her. She had let these men corner her, and now Gareth might have to pay the price for it.

That night, they were startled awake by shouts and the sound of fighting from the front door. Directing Anya to stay with Gareth, Ellie took a lamp and went to investigate. When she reached the foyer, soldiers pushed her back, but not before she saw a man laid out on the doorstep with his neck half sliced through. In the dim light she recognized his face. It was Trevin Falley, the messenger who often made the journey back and forth from Highever to Denerim. There were other men dead in the yard, but the shouting had stopped.

Falley was trying to get a message to her, and had found other men from Highever still loyal to her father. They had tried to fight their way through. Ellie recalled the messenger speaking of his young children. His eyes were open, wide with anguish, and seemed to stare at her in reproach.

Stumbling back to her chamber, Ellie sank onto the bed next to Anya. "We can't stay here. They're going to kill us. They're going to kill all of us."

"Aye," Anya answered, brown eyes flashing. "I was waitin' for you to realize that, m'lady."

Ellie glanced at the mage, then down at Gareth. Despite all he had been through, the fear seemed to have gone from the little boy. He met her gaze evenly, trustingly. With decision Ellie looked back to Anya. "I'm not going to let them have my son."

"No, m'lady."

"Even if we can get out, I have no idea where to go. Anora might be prisoner, too. Howe's soldiers could be all over Denerim."

Anya hesitated, then leaned in, whispering. "I been thinkin' on it. There are some people in the city I know who are good at hiding. If we can just get to them, they'll know what to do."

"Apostates." Ellie was calm, and also kept her voice low. The fact that they were actually making a plan had settled her.

Nodding, Anya replied, "Aye, secret mages. They'll help us, I know they will. We just have to get out of here."

Ellie looked around. Howe's men had searched the house and taken all her weapons, but perhaps they had not thought to search her boots. Jumping up, she crossed to them and felt a rush of joy when she flipped open the boot sheath and found her Gwaren toothpick still there.

Leaving it in the sheath, she returned, whispering, "Some of Howe's men were killed tonight. They might not have reinforced them yet. I can take at least one with no noise, I'm sure, but if the others raise a cry... No matter what, we can't risk Gareth."

"Men don't yell if they're asleep."

Ellie shook her head. "They don't sleep on duty, and surely they would... Wait, do you mean magic?"

"I'd much rather tear innards, but that'd bring others, as you say. So a sleep or paralysis spell will have to do. Trust me, m'lady. I had years of nothing else to do but study on such things. I know what I'm about."

Gareth spoke up for the first time. "Are we gonna leave, mamma?"

Ellie lifted a finger to her lips to warn him to be quiet, then hesitated, watching him. "We have to, pet. Can you be brave? No matter what happens, I want you to get away, Gareth. Just run and don't look back. _Run_, do you hear me? Can you do that?"

"They killed Cutha." Gareth spoke calmly, and rather than make him afraid, this outrage seemed to set his determination.

"I know, sweet. I'm sorry." Ellie took the boy into her arms and held him, cheek resting on his head. It was a terrible risk, but more dreadful was the thought that the men might come for Gareth at any moment and she would have done nothing. Tears filled her eyes. When she turned her head slightly to look at Anya, however, the mage's expression was set firm.

"You said it yerself, m'lady. We have to do it, and we should do it now."

Ellie fought back the claw of fear she knew would unsteady her dagger hand if she let it take hold. If they managed to escape, there was no guarantee that they could hide for long or make it out of Denerim. If Cailan was in on Howe's plans, then their fate, and likely Anora's too, rested on one thing. Ellie formed it in a wordless plea. _Loghain, please hurry._

* * *

14 Bloomingtide, 9:30 Dragon Age. Teymouth Green, north of Lothering.

They were told not to strike tents, but in short order the meadow was filled with the smoke of cookfires. Much as he wanted to march on to Denerim without a stop, Loghain knew the men needed a meal and his officers to hear from him. Grim-faced, the men reported in one by one. Cauthrien stood beside Loghain, arms crossed. The Gwaren banner snapped in the wind behind them. It was a southerly wind, adding the stench of death to the smell of roasting meat from the breakfast fires.

When the officers had assembled, Loghain raised his voice above the camp din. "I know you have questions. None of us are happy about quitting a field where our brothers are still fighting. It was necessary. You all saw what I saw, or you have heard from those who did." He looked around at the officers, trying to read their faces. Some nodded in acknowledgement, others appeared more doubtful.

"There was no end to the horde," a captain from Gwaren supplied. "We would have been overwhelmed." Though there were a few nods, others did not acknowledge this, and there was grumbling. Not everyone agreed.

Cauthrien spoke up, dark eyes blazing. "If the Teyrn says we had to leave, then we had to leave."

Loghain lifted a hand to quiet his second, but shot her an approving glance all the same. Turning back to the others, he lifted his chin. "We might have won. I have confidence in you and in your troops, do not doubt it. But at what cost? Men, I have learned that an army of chevaliers is massing on our western border. They may already have crossed into Fereldan territory. There are four legions of them, along with Grey Wardens. It may be that these Wardens were acting in concert with some of those at Ostagar, but that is something I will see to. Some of you have fought chevaliers before, or your fathers have. _Four legions_." He let the number sink in a moment, then went on, "We must unite ourselves before we can meet this threat and the remaining darkspawn. In the days of King Brandel, Ferelden lost not because of Orlesian might but due to Fereldan disunity and cowardice. We lost many men last night, but their sacrifice will not be in vain. Lieutenant Riven, you and your division are to ride up the North Road in all haste to intercept the Orlesians and turn them back, by force if necessary."

The lieutenant with coal-black hair straightened as his name was spoken. He had been Loghain's choice to lead the vanguard that stood at the head of the valley in Ostagar, and had Cailan not stepped in, the teyrn knew he would have accepted the post though it meant almost certain death. He was the son of a war veteran, as able and Fereldan as many a Gwaren soldier. Riven was also quick to smile, but his mouth was now twisted in a frown. "We are not enough to take on four legions, Teyrn Loghain. Not nearly enough. With Grey Wardens too? Spies they may be, but they're also fierce fighters."

"I know," Loghain agreed. "You will need to pick up reinforcements on your way. Most of the Bannorn did not send troops to Ostagar. I will give you a writ of authority to conscript as many as you need, still keeping haste as your priority. Secure Gherlen Pass if possible, and if they are too much for you then fall back and harry them as you can until you get reinforcements. Once Denerim and the queen are secure, I'll send as many men as I can."

Riven's face remained grave, though he nodded. "And the ports? The Orlesians could land troops by ship. Someone should inform Highever and Amaranthine."

Loghain's cheek twitched. The news that something had happened in Highever had not spread far. They all their hands full fighting darkspawn. "I have reason to believe that Highever is secure for now. When I reach Denerim, I'll send word on from there."

"What about the king?" The question had come from one of the men at the rear of the assembly, but all faces turned to Loghain expectantly.

He didn't hesitate. "Ferelden has no king. He fell to his own arrogance and to the false promises of the Grey Wardens. Rest assured, men, that Queen Anora will not make the same mistake. She is your sovereign now, and you will do everything in your power to defend her and this nation."

"The nobles will support us?" another man, closer to the front, asked. As experienced soldiers, all the men and women in the assembly had had to reckon with the whims of nobility. Not all of Ferelden's nobles were soldiers, let alone capable ones, but they had the power of life and death over those under them nonetheless. The traditionalists among them considered Anora and Loghain commoners, beneath their own level despite their accomplishments. This view was strongest in Redcliffe, but had pockets of support in the Bannorn as well, as the extremists of the Dragon Society tried to exploit. It was a fact that made his soldiers revere the Hero of River Dane the more.

Loghain's fist clenched reflexively. "Leave them to me."

As the officers were dismissed, a page informed him that someone was waiting to speak with him. "A mage, ser," the boy said nervously. There might be a horde of darkspawn close by, but one mage in their midst was also cause for anxiety.

"I'll see him."

A few moments later a bald, hawk-nosed man dressed in a dark leather and chain robe approached. He had a black hardwood staff, set at the top with a milky crystal stone, slung over one shoulder. Loghain recognized him from the strategy meeting the night before the battle. Only the previous night, and yet it seemed like an age had passed since then. "Speak quickly, ser mage," he ordered curtly. "I have little time to spare."

The mage bowed. "I am Senior Enchanter Uldred, of the Circle of Magi."

"I remember." Loghain's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Were you not in the battle?"

His dark eyes flickered, whether from guilt or nervousness Loghain could not tell. "I was, with several of my fellows. I am afraid... well, your grace, here we all are. With so few of us and so many of the darkspawn, we were lucky to get out with our lives. You intend to fight on, do you not?"

Loghain gestured noncommittally. "If the darkspawn do not return to the Deep Roads, naturally we will. I must see to the safety of the Queen first."

"As you should. With King Cailan dead, there will be much unrest. Tell me, your grace, is it true that you alone of all the nobles in Ferelden have maintained a court mage? This, despite the tyrannical restrictions placed on us by the Grand Cleric in recent years?"

"She is my wife's bondmage, not mine."

"Yes, but I understand you intervened with the Grand Cleric to keep her in your wife's service."

Loghain could see Cauthrien hovering nearby, waiting to confer with him. He gestured impatiently. "Get the point."

"Immediately, your grace. My point is this: In the troubled times ahead, those of us who are of like mind and common interest must help one another. If the Chantry's restrictions were loosened, mages might be of great help in your battles. I have influence in the Circle, and reason to believe I may soon have more. You and I may be able to help one another."

"As much help as you were to our armies last night?" The man's face darkened and he sputtered, but Loghain cut him off with a lift of his hand. He paused, considering. There had once been a mage who had cut a different impression than most Circle mages he had seen. Wilhelm was court mage to Rowan's father and had fought in the rebellion. Between his spells and his golem, he was like an army unto himself. Even Anya, rumpled matron that she was, had proven her usefulness. She had also once reproved Loghain for not seeing mages as tools to be employed the way he moved soldiers on a battlefield.

Loghain glanced at Uldred, sizing him up. Something was shifty about the man, but the country was at war on two fronts and it was not the time to be choosy. "I make no promises, but if you can secure this influence you say you can, then I will see what I can do for you. I don't need more child minders, however. Only battle mages will be of use to me."

Uldred smiled, seeming elated at the teyrn's proposal. "Nothing worthwhile comes without risk, your grace. Trust me when I say that with even a few mages such as myself and my allies, you will have more power than that of all your armies."

"We'll see about that." Loghain turned, dismissing the mage, and stepped over to where Cauthrien was waiting.

By midday the armies were moving again, a little more than half taking the West Road towards Denerim with Loghain, the rest moving off to the west. Loghain sent out messengers, as well, summoning the lords of the Bannorn to Denerim. When all this was arranged, he turned his remaining men north and made for the capital. Though it was a hard march, every minute was a interminable span. There were no messengers on the road, nothing to indicate what was going on in Denerim.

Two days later, Loghain found himself standing in an empty house. There had been no Orlesians in Denerim's streets, but Ellie was nowhere to be found. He went through the house calling for her and Gareth, his voice echoing on the walls. Heart pounding with fear, he rushed to the palace was told to find the queen meeting within with Rendon Howe. Loghain burst through the meeting chamber doors and took in the sight of Anora seated at the table, Howe standing next to her. In only a few seconds he closed the distance with Howe and shoved at his chest with a gauntleted hand. He still wore his armor and greatcloak, stained by the road and by darkspawn blood.

Howe's eyes flared and he seemed to shrink as Loghain bellowed, "Where is she?"

"Your grace, I..."

"Where are my wife and son? If you so much as laid a hand on either one of them, you are a dead man."

"They're missing, Father," Anora said quietly.

Loghain turned on her as though to rail at her, too. "Missing?"

Howe answered. "Your grace, I sent men to see to the Teyrna's protection. She took it upon herself to leave with the boy. I have men out searching for her, but she has not been seen in some days."

"Because you also took it upon yourself to slaughter her parents?" Out of the corner of his eye, Loghain saw that Anora was not shocked by the news, and that was confirmation. So it was true. Bryce and Eleanor had really been slain. He kept a menacing gaze fixed on Howe.

Lifting his hands, Howe conceded. "I had no choice, your grace. Bryce attacked me when I confronted him with what I knew. He meant to kill me and to keep his treachery quiet, but I have witness testimony that he was about to help King Cailan bring an Orlesian force into Ferelden. For years he had been allowing Orlesian agents to enter the country through Highever." Howe paused, regarding Loghain and asking hopefully, "Tell me, is it true, then? Has Cailan really fallen?"

"Cailan is dead." Loghain saw Anora move once again, her head sinking into her hands. He turned to her and softened his tone. "The darkspawn attack was too numerous and Cailan had insisted on being on the front lines. We had no choice but to pull out with what troops we had left."

Howe shifted. "Then you still have your army?"

Shifting his gaze back to the arl, Loghain eyed him suspiciously. The question had seemed an innocent one, but he couldn't help but think that Howe sounded disappointed. "Yes, I have my army. They're going to turn this city inside out to find my family. You had better hope that they do, Rendon. Now leave us. I would speak with my daughter alone."

Howe frowned and hesitated, but finally retreated. Loghain watched him go before turning back to his daughter, stepping to meet her as she rose. "Are you alright? What in the Maker's name is going on?"

"Father, I am so glad that you are alright. We heard reports that you were on your way back to Denerim, but it is hard to tell rumor from truth." She smiled briefly before resuming her earnest expression. "It's true. Howe has taken Highever, and his men are all over Denerim now, as well. We were actually fortunate that he arrived when he did. There was rioting in the city, mostly in the alienage, and the guard was overwhelmed. I don't know what happened to Elissa and Gareth. The first I knew of their disappearance was after the fact. As I said, everything is so confused..."

"I told you to watch over them. How could you let this happen?"

Anora's cheeks colored. "What was I supposed to do, Father? Cailan emptied the palace of royal guard, leaving me with dotard courtiers and the servants. You could have left some of your men to replace them, but you didn't. I've done the best I can to restore order."

The accusation stung but was an accurate one. Loghain turned, pacing. "If there has been no ransom demand, then perhaps Ellie did leave on her own." It was also possible that Howe had killed them and disposed of the bodies, but that was not a scenario he would allow himself to face until he had to. "Where could she have gone? Have you searched the Couslands' estate?"

"I sent Erlina. There was no one there." After a long silence, Loghain felt Anora's hand on his arm. "Go home, Father. You look exhausted. We'll keep searching."

His eyes shut, and behind them there was blackness. He was beyond exhausted, but Loghain feared sleep. There were too many nightmares lying in wait. To the image of a man in golden armor being trampled into the mud by darkspawn feet, wearing Maric's face instead of Cailan's, now would be added that of white bodies floating on the Hafter River. He saw Ellie and his son staring up at the sky with wide, empty eyes.

"Father."

The pressure of Anora's hand stirred Loghain from the standing half-sleep. He blinked, allowing her face come into focus. "I have to find them."

"We will." She hesitated, swallowing, then seemed to steel herself. "Did Cailan suffer? Was it... did he..."

Loghain's jaw set. "It's done, and you are free of him, Anora. There is much to do, but I have to find Ellie and Gareth first. I am putting my men on guard here. Howe does not leave this place until I am sure my family is safe."

"I understand." She let him go, stepping back.

Two days later, he was standing in the watch post of the city guard loudly berating the guard captain when he noticed the man, Kylon, looking past him at someone who had entered from the street. Loghain turned. The visitor was a woman in a dark cloak with hood drawn.

When she saw his face, Ellie pulled the hood back. Her face was ashen, and there were dark circles under her eyes to match his. "Loghain."

They both closed the distance in a matter of seconds, Loghain taking her face in his hands and kissing her. "Where have you been, Elissa?" His tone was reproachful even as he continued to kiss her, heedless of the guard that watched them. Abruptly he pulled back. "Where's Gareth?"

"He's safe. You're alright?" She gave him a quick, anxious inspection.

"I'm fine. Why did you leave the residence? I've been looking all over the city for you."

"I know, and you're not the only one." Her eyes flashed and she related to him the account of Howe's men coming to the house, their imprisonment and the escape they made past men put into a strange waking sleep by Anya's magic. Ellie had not had to bloody her dagger at all. "He's been out looking for us ever since. We hid, moving from house to house when necessary. Where is Howe now?" She glanced nervously behind her, apparently expecting the arl to appear at any moment.

"In the palace. Come home now, Ellie, and bring Gareth home. Nothing will happen to either of you, I swear. I'm here now."

"You heard about my parents and Fergus?" Loghain nodded, took a breath, then gave her the news that Fergus had made it to Ostagar and had become a Grey Warden there. Her expression lightened, but the hope in it faded again when his remained sober. Ellie supplied the rest. "He is dead, too. Dead at Ostagar, with Cailan's armies."

"I'm sorry, Ellie."

Her eyes took on a dull, weary rage. "Howe has to die. You need to put this right, Loghain. If you do not, then I will."

Lifting his hand, Loghain brushed back a lock of her hair. The formless guilt he had felt already in Ostagar returned. Even though the worst of his fears hadn't been realized, he had failed her and Gareth nonetheless. Despite this, he would not make empty promises simply to comfort her. Too much had changed, and too much was yet unclear. "Come home."

Anger receding back to a dull sadness, Ellie leaned up to kiss his cheek. "I am glad you are well. I thought I might never see you again." Before Loghain could reply, she turned quickly, drawing her hood up again as she departed. He was tempted to set men on her to follow her, but she was gone in the crowd before he could summon them.

They returned home that evening after nightfall. Loghain met them in the foyer and caught Gareth up into his arms, crushing him against his chest until the boy squirmed. Releasing him, Loghain bent to one knee and held Gareth's arms, staring as though he had forgotten what his son looked like. He and Ellie were wearing plain homespun, workmen's garments.

Though his father was speechless with relief, Gareth had no such limitation. "You came back, da. Did you win the war? When you was gone we had to run away. Anya and mamma and me. We stayed with a bunch of people and couldn't come home, and Cutha's dead."

"I'm home now, Gareth, and all that is past. No one's going to hurt you."

"Cutha died," the boy repeated. "He fought those men and they hit him with their swords. I tried to fight, too, but I didn't have a sword and there was lots of them."

"What those soldiers did was a terrible thing. It was a mistake." Out of the corner of his eye, Loghain saw Ellie flinch and look away, but he kept his eyes trained on Gareth. "They shouldn't have done that. You were very brave, lieutenant, and you took good care of your mother, just as I asked you to do. I'm proud of you."

Gareth glanced uncertainly at his mother before a smile cautiously broke and he seemed to accept the praise. "I'm glad you're back, da."

Loghain's voice was hoarse. "So am I."

Though Ellie kissed him lightly and moved about the house, helping Anya to fix them a dinner of the staples left in the pantry, she seemed not to be fully present. Both women spoke in hushed tones. Gareth took a bath in Ellie's room and alone of all of them seemed gradually to recover his spirits, giggling as Loghain pulled nightclothes over his head and hoisted him up to carry him bodily to his own room. Releasing the four year-old to his own feet, Loghain crossed to light the bedside lamp. When he turned back, he saw that Gareth still stood in the doorway, one hand worrying the fabric of his pajamas. The boy's eyes moved warily around the room.

Loghain approached and rested a hand on his head. "Come on, lieutenant. It will be alright. To bed with you." After a pause Gareth complied, crossing to his bed and climbing in. He watched, silent and serious, while his father drew up the covers and composed them. When that was finished, father and son regarded each other silently. On any other night he would have offered a story, but Loghain guessed that real events had overtaken the pleasant terrors of their usual tales. Brushing a hand over his son's dampened brow, he repeated softly, "It's alright. You're safe, my boy. Sleep now."

Ellie was waiting for him in his chambers, and accepted his embrace, though her arms were rigid. She smelled of lye soap and wet wool. As Loghain kissed her hair at her temple and then at her ear, she gradually relaxed and brought her arms up around his back. He was not surprised when her shoulders shuddered and she began to sob. Likely she had been holding it back all the while, ever since hearing the news of her family. When the storm seemed to ease, Loghain released her and caressed her cheek, brushing the remnants of tears from her cheek with his thumb. His voice was quiet, entreating her. "Give me a few days, Ellie. The city is in an uproar and there are Orlesians..." He stopped as he saw that Ellie's expression remained weary and blank, unmoved. "Just give me some time."

Her reply was hollow but emphatic. "He must answer."

Ellie turned and after a moment Loghain followed, extinguishing the lamps. He held her, resisting his own much-needed sleep as he waited for her breathing to slow. Some time later the door cracked open and small footsteps approached. A moment later Gareth climbed into the bed and wormed his way between his parents, settling in between them with a sigh. Loghain made room, then reached an arm across both his son and his wife. They were alive. It was all that mattered, but was still cold comfort. Apart from this bare fact, it was obvious that nothing was the same, nor ever would be.


	27. Chapter 27

29 Bloomingtide, 9:30 Dragon Age.

Drawing her hair up into a ponytail, Ellie came into the morning room and found Loghain and Gareth sitting side by side at the breakfast table. It was late and a full morning sun shone in through the open shutters. She had never been an early riser, but since the events of her life were turned upside down, had found it harder and harder to get up. Mumbling a listless "good morning," she crossed to the teapot.

Loghain watched her as she poured. "I found him alone at the table eating from the sugar bowl. Where is Anya?"

Ellie shrugged. "It must have been my turn to wake with him. I forgot." There would normally have been staff enough to see to the boy even without his parents or nurse, but the elven housekeeper and gardener had not returned after their ordeal, and Ellie had not had time to replace them. The usual bustle of the small house had fallen eerily still.

Gareth hadn't spoken, but as Ellie turned with tea in hand, he smiled at her and the reason for his quiet became apparent. The orb of a boiled egg, shoved whole into his mouth, peered out at her. Her black mood could not prevent a smirk. "I see you managed to make breakfast."

Loghain glanced at Gareth. "Made, yes. Eaten, apparently not." He gave the boy a playful cuff, then rested an arm on his chair and turned back to Ellie.

He looked about to say something, but she cut him off. "I'm going out to the garden. Gareth, come out when you're finished. Don't wake Anya. She obviously needs the sleep."

His mouth full of egg, Gareth gave a theatrical nod. Loghain called after her, "Don't forget the hearing this afternoon."

Ellie stopped in the doorway. There was to be a hearing of the seneschal to look into the matter of Rendon Howe's occupation of Highever and his accusations of treason against the Couslands. It was a farce engineered by Howe, who had warned Ellie that he could not guarantee her safe passage if she were to travel to Highever. She had no evidence to present to counter him. "Is there any reason for me to go?"

There was a pause, then Loghain answered with a wave, "Do what you want."

What she wanted at that moment was to be wrist deep in compost. The absence of their gardener gave Ellie a good excuse to get out of the house. It didn't make the hurt and anger go away, but it lowered their sting to a dull ache. In the foyer she set her tea aside and strapped on a swordbelt, the hilt of her dwarven-made halfsword gleaming dully from it. Even when at home, Ellie had taken to wearing leathers and kept swords and daggers close. Loghain's soldiers had replaced Howe's at the entrances, but the crest of Amaranthine was everywhere to be seen in Denerim, and she felt almost as much a prisoner as she had been before her husband returned from the south.

Howe's men had thoroughly trampled the garden. She was only haphazardly bringing it back to some sort of order. As Ellie set to repairing a trestle, her eyes fell on the mound a few paces away. She and Gareth had made a little shrine at its head of Cutha's food dish, his harness, and a hide ball that had escaped being chewed to bits. With heavy steps, Ellie walked over to the mound and sank to her knees. Numbly she stared at the turned earth, packed carefully around Cutha's corpse. She had not been able to bring herself to dig the hound up and give him a proper pyre, as would befit a warrior. Nevertheless the humble burial shrine was still more than she could do for her parents and brother.

"I'm sorry, old friend," Ellie murmured. "I'm so sorry." Her eyes were dry, but inside there was a void of loneliness and guilt that made her wish that the earth would open up to swallow her, too.

Some time later she realized that Gareth had come up behind and was watching her. Turning, she wrapped an arm around his back and pulled him closer. "Is Cutha with the Maker now, mamma?"

"I don't know, pet. I hope so. If there are hounds with the Maker, then no doubt Cutha is there, chasing rabbits in some green, sunny place."

"With Uncle Fergus?"

A shock of pain constricted Ellie's throat, and wetness finally sprung into her eyes. Much as she mourned her parents, it was a bitter outrage that her sweet brother had also had to die after surviving Howe's treachery. The Maker had much to answer for, but this was the worst. Struggling to contain her grief for Gareth's sake, she answered, "Yes. They would be together, wouldn't they? All of them." _All of them but me. _ But for her son, she would have wished it otherwise. He was the reason she kept both despair and her thirst for vengeance at bay. Pulling him closer, she hugged him tightly against her side. "My good boy."

Gareth reached out a stubby finger and poked at her cheek gently with it. "Don't cry, mamma."

It only made more tears fall, but she brushed at her cheek to whisk them away. "It's alright to cry, Gareth. But let's get to work, shall we? Are you going to help me dig?" He nodded vigorously, the brown curls that had grown too long flopping on his forehead. Ellie smiled more genuinely as she got to her feet. "Right then. Let's get to it."

Trying not to think too much about what lay ahead, Ellie did clean herself up and go to the palace to attend the seneschal hearing. It played out much as she had expected. Howe dragged in several "witnesses" that he claimed were servants of her family. They told of Orlesian visitors, of Bryce Cousland's trips to Orlais, and of overhearing conversations denigrating the crown. When they were finished, Ellie stood and demanded the floor. The seneschal exchanged a look with Howe and reluctantly allowed her to speak. With only a few pointed questions, Ellie was able to demonstrate that the "witnesses" had not even a passing acquaintance with her family's routines. One of them finally admitted that he had only been a journeyman and not a daily presence in the castle at all.

In the end, it had made no difference. Once they had had many friends, but those who might have spoken up for the Couslands had stayed away. Too many had died, there was too much uncertainty about the future, and most of those left standing simply accepted as fait accompli that the fortunes of the Couslands had irreparably fallen. If not even Teyrn Loghain would speak up for them, then it would not do for lesser men to stick their necks out. Other than guard, few people even attended what would otherwise have been an explosive and controversial occasion. Loghain sat at the front of the chamber, in the seat that Cailan or Anora might otherwise have occupied. Across from him on the dais sat Howe, acting as accuser. Howe had asked most of the questions. Loghain did not speak. Anora was nowhere to be seen.

The seneschal made a show of looking through his notes, and finally looked up to address the nearly empty chamber. "The charges of treason against the Cousland family are grave but inconclusive. War is upon our land, and it necessarily curtails the powers of this office. Until such time as a more thorough investigation can be undertaken, we make no challenge to the claim of Rendon Howe upon the teyrnir of Highever with all its rents and obligations. If there is nothing else..." The man looked pointedly at Howe.

Rendon stood, folding his hands. "There is indeed another matter which I fear must be brought to the attention of the court." At this, Ellie noticed that Loghain looked up sharply and stared at Howe. Though neither spoke, she saw that something passed between the two men. Eventually Howe turned back to the seneschal and smiled apologetically. "It can wait, your grace. I have nothing further."

Ellie rose and departed, slamming the chamber doors behind her as she left. She walked at a fast clip, ignoring any who spoke to her in the hallway, but slowed as she reached the great oaken doors, graven with hounds rampant, that led to the throne room. It took a great effort to move the ancient oak. Ellie slipped inside and through the dark antechamber into the main hall. Her boots echoed as she slowly approached the dais. The throne, also hardwood and set with the Theirin hounds, was humble compared to the great crystal and gemstone affair she had seen in Val Royeux. Gazing up at it, Ellie pictured it occupied not by Cailan, but by Maric.

"You should be here," she told the ghost in the empty chair. Everything would be different if Maric had lived. Loghain would be standing at his right hand, not vying with a madman and with his daughter for the void at the center of power. All she could imagine was the lost king, golden hair streaked with silver, smiling sadly but mutely down at her. Ellie turned away from the vision, and found a mercifully empty hallway in which to escape.

Loghain did not return for dinner that evening, and when Gareth was put to bed, Anya and Alun tried to cheer Ellie up with a game of cards. Eventually they, too, went to bed. After the guardsman returned with Loghain from Ostagar, it was accepted as a matter of course that he would be posted full-time to the residence. Ellie had given Alun his own room, but this had not been necessary. As it turned out, Anya's room suited him just fine.

Ellie sat at the parlor table while the candle burned down, her mind turning over and over. When the flame was but a weak flicker in a pool of wax, she heard the door open. Loghain appeared at the parlor doorway soon after. She glanced up. "Have you eaten? I made soup. It's not very good."

"I'm not hungry."

"Yes. When you work, you don't eat or sleep for days. It's quite a feat." This was the closest they had come to conversation in days, and though Ellie tried to warn herself against it, she felt all the words pressing to be said. She could not play the stoic game like her husband and son could. As Loghain approached and took a seat next to her, she asked, "What is going on between you and Howe?"

"'Going on'?" he repeated, his voice guarded.

"Yes. Howe was going to say something to the seneschal, and then he looked at you and backed off. What was that about?"

Loghain lifted a shoulder. "He had said enough. He ought to be content with things as they are."

"And how are they?" Ellie turned in her chair to face him squarely. "Are you going to let this stand? Tell me you're not going to confirm him as Teyrn of Highever, you and Anora."

His face was a grim mask. "You forgot Arl of Denerim."

"What? Why?" Ellie's voice was dismayed and pleading. "Loghain, Maker's breath! He murdered my family. My _family_. Don't you care about that at all? You're going to let him steal my birthright, too?"

Loghain looked up, tone sharpening. "What choice do I have? Ellie, the man holds the North now. His men are dug in at Highever and control the two largest ports. They're all over the capital, too. I don't have enough men to fight him here and in the north, not with the Orlesians threatening and the darkspawn too." He paused and regarded her, shaking his head. "After the country is safe, when all this has settled down, then we can see to Howe."

Ellie watched him, trying not to admit that all this was true. Finally she leaned forward on her elbows, pressing her hands to her eyes. "I keep thinking I am going to wake up. This has to be a bad dream."

A large, roughened hand closed over one of hers, holding it. "You are my wife. No one will touch you, not Howe or anyone. I know how hard this must be for you..."

"Do you?" Ellie dropped her hands, and Loghain released the one he held, sitting back. "Have you really thought about this, Loghain? You lost your mother. What would you do if the men responsible were right in front of you and you had a sword in your hand?"

He shook his head. "Don't talk like that, Ellie. Don't do anything foolish. Howe is a powerful man now, and he has been winning friends at court, making promises. I can control him, but everyone is on a thin edge. If you go about brandishing your revenge, it would be a disaster for everyone. We can't afford to fight each other. Think about Gareth."

"I think about him every minute of every day."

"And so do I. Both of you. I know you can't see it right now, but I am doing this for you."

Ellie stood, hugging her waist with her arms as she paced. The pain was exquisite. Howe had hurt her in ways she had never imagined possible, but Loghain was driving the knife deeper. She had lost her entire family, and he was going to leave her alone, too.

Eventually Loghain stood and came to face her, his hands on her arms stopping her in her steps. "There is a meeting of the banns tomorrow, all who answered my summons. I don't expect you to come, but it would be better if you did. And better if you did not bring up the matter of Highever."

She glanced up at him, frowning. "A Landsmeet?"

"Not a Landsmeet. There is not a quorum for that."

"But you want me to stand beside Howe so that no one will question his new titles." Her tone was bitter.

"I want you to stand as Teyrna of Gwaren and as a Fereldan. We need their armies, and we will not get them if the Bannorn are torn apart by divided loyalties. Nor do I want there to be any question about you, despite Howe's accusations against your family." When Ellie remained silent, Loghain sighed and leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. His hand brushed over her hair, the signet ring catching. "Elissa, please just trust me. I will get us through this."

Ellie let him hold her, and it eased the piercing in her gut, but it was still all wrong. Everything was wrong. It was like the men who had come back from Ostagar only to succumb to darkspawn sickness. They had managed to contain it so that it did not spread in the city, but to her it felt as though everything and everyone was tainted, even the warmth of her husband's nearness. Especially that. She was too weary to fight, however.

Pulling back, she looked up at him sadly. "You will regret this, and not only for my sake." He let her go then, and did not follow.

The following day she went to the palace for the gathering of banns, but as Ellie neared the Landsmeet chamber, her footsteps slowed. Nobles milled about in the hallway. Some of them she recognized had visibly avoided her, others were obviously whispering amongst themselves as she passed. The rules had changed, and Ellie did not know how to play the game any longer. All her moves were traps. If she didn't speak, the banns would take it as acquiescence to Howe's claim on her family's land. If she spoke out about Howe, it might force Loghain to act publicly against him, but there was no guarantee that enough nobles would speak up on behalf of the Couslands. Bryce was well-liked, but dead was dead, and Loghain was right that the occupation of the north was already a matter of fact. Without an army, Howe could not be dislodged. There were not enough of those to go around. She could neither speak, nor could she stomach to stand silent. The only Cousland left alive had been left a ghost.

Ellie turned to go back the way she came, and in so doing brushed against several guard that were heading towards the Landsmeet chamber. She mumbled an apology and walked on, but after a moment stopped and looked back. A ghost's place was to haunt. There was a guard station nearby. Ellie ducked into it and emerged a few minutes later dressed in palace guard armor, a full helm hiding her face. Thus dressed, she slipped into the Landsmeet chamber and took her place among the row of guards.

Attendance was thin. The banns had either not had time to answer Loghain's summons, were otherwise occupied, or had refused him. Judging by the talk Ellie could overhear, it might well have been the latter. The chamber was disquiet. She heard the name "Ostagar," countered by "Orlesians." Some of them had received their summons by Lieutenant Riven along with a conscription writ demanding troops to man the border passes. Such forced drafts were never popular, and it was not yet clear whether the Orlesians were a real threat. There had been no word yet from Gherlen Pass.

Loghain emerged in the gallery with Anora just behind him, and the murmur of voices stilled. As direct as he ever was, he described the threats facing them and a demand for troops to fill the ranks emptied by Ostagar. Anora said nothing, only stood back wringing her hands. Ellie had never seen her so timid. As Loghain spoke, the murmurs in the assembly started again. The Bannorn did not ever take kindly to royal decree. Someone spoke aloud, challenging Loghain about the army lost at Ostagar and his retreat. For a long, tense moment no one spoke. All eyes were on Loghain, including Anora's and Ellie's. Recalling the empty throne she had gazed upon the day before, Ellie knew that all of Ferelden and not only the whole chamber would be looking to him. Maric had always had Rowan or Loghain on which to lean. Since he wanted none of the consequences to fall on Anora or Ellie, he was trying to carry it alone.

Perhaps Loghain himself was realizing this for the first time, for though Ellie expected that he would speak up again in answer to the challenge, he only remained silent. She looked around. The murmuring was picking up again, and there were scowls on most of the faces near her. This would not do. Instinctively Ellie took a step forward. She had to intervene, to reason with the lords as one of their own. Before she could remove the guard helmet to speak, however, she remembered. They would no more listen to a Cousland ghost now than to Loghain.

In her hesitation, the moment passed, and nobles began leaving the chamber with sullen grumbles about the trip to Denerim being a waste of time. A few had sharper words than that. Anora also seemed to realize what was happening and tried calling down from the gallery to some of the departing lords, but they were not listening. Still Loghain said nothing, only watched mutely as the nobles departed the hall. His eyes moved around the room, and Ellie guessed that he was looking for her. At that moment, Rendon Howe stepped onto the gallery behind Loghain and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. As Ellie watched, her husband inclined his head to listen, then nodded at whatever was said.

Ellie turned and followed the crowd, stumblin into the hallway. It was difficult to breathe in the full helmet, and as soon as she found a quiet alcove she ripped it off and gasped in gulps of air. Her breathing was just returning to normal when she heard Loghain's voice. Leaning out, Ellie saw his group pass. He was accompanied by Cauthrien and Howe and a mixed complement of their guard.

"...I don't need your empty assurances," Loghain was saying, his tenor rising above the clank of metal and echo of bootsteps. "I need to know how many. We cannot..."

They rounded a corner and Loghain's voice receded. After a moment's hesitation, Ellie followed, carrying the helmet under her arm. The one noble she did want to see her was Howe. They had not come face to face since the day he taunted her during her imprisonment, and she would be damned if she would hide, nor let him rest easily in the detente he had obviously convinced Loghain to make. Him she would not haunt silently.

Ellie followed the group into one of the parlors where courtiers gathered for informal meetings. Loghain had broken off from Howe and was in the far corner, his back turned towards the door as he spoke with Cauthrien. Howe and his men clustered at a round of parlor chairs in the other corner. As Ellie stood in the doorway, someone in the nearest group was saying, "That Eremon bitch, it's no wonder she's not wed. I'd not like to be her bedmate for a hundred sovereigns."

"You haven't seen a hundred sovereigns put together in your whole sorry life," another soldier retorted. "Nor a bedmate neither," another added, to much laughter.

Ellie barely heard anything after the first man spoke. She knew the voice. _Cousland bitch, _the man had said as he ground his knee into her back, holding her while the other men finished off her warhound and dragged her son away in the middle of the blood. _We ought to cut you right here._

Howe stood nearby, arms crossed and smirking at his men's banter. He looked up as Ellie approached them. Delight sprang into his eyes, followed by amusement as he took in her guardsman dress. "Well, well, what have we here? Have you been demoted, my dear Elissa?"

He received no answer. The man who taunted her had begun to turn to look. It took only a moment to calculate the right spot at a joint of his armor. Before he had barely seen her approach, Ellie plunged her sword into the man, twisted it, and rammed it further so that it pierced his heart.

There was a moment of shocked silence before the room sprang into action. Ellie locked eyes with her victim, who stared at her wide-eyed and uncomprehending, the smirk from his jesting still frozen on his mouth. Other than the men who had attacked her in an alley years before and some bandits on the road, she had never killed a man with her own blade. It was surprisingly easy. With the same deliberateness Ellie jerked back on the blade until she got it dislodged from the man's chest. The dwarven metal glinted angrily through the dripping blood. As the soldier slumped to her feet, Ellie felt arms holding her back and heard Loghain's voice shouting. Howe's face had changed from smirking to shock, then to a black rage. His men pushed him back, surrounding him protectively, blades held out towards her.

"Get off her! Get back, I say. Andraste's blood, Elissa, stop." The voice shouting next to her belonged to Loghain, who had pushed through Howe's men until he reached her side. She let him take the sword from her hand.

While the soldier's blood pooled at her feet, Ellie felt a surge of calm and of something else. It was like joy. For a long while there had been nothing that had felt so right as that sword stroke. Loghain was shielding her, trying to push her back toward the door, but Ellie resisted and reached around him to point a finger towards Howe. "This was not revenge, it was a promise. You are on notice, you traitorous bastard!"

In the hallway Loghain pinned her to the wall, hands on both her arms. They stood quietly like that a while and finally he spoke, voice low. "Is it done?"

Ellie nodded. She was done, for the time being. His grip on her arms relaxed. "Howe murdered my family," she said, entreating him. "He would have killed both Gareth and me if you had not returned from Ostagar. Whatever happens, never forget that."

Loghain turned, gesturing to Cauthrien. "See her home." He held her eyes a moment longer before turning back towards the parlor.

That evening, he found her on the stone bench near their small willow pond. Sitting he said, "I settled matters with the seneschal and with Howe. No one will say anything about the dead guard."

Ellie nodded, not looking at him. Her eyes were trained out on the mirror surface of the little pond, streaked by moonlight. "We're going to Gwaren. I cannot stay here to watch you do this. We both know it won't end well if I do."

Loghain's jaw worked, obviously unhappy, but he did not appear surprised. "It's dangerous, Ellie. The darkspawn are in the south, and they move through the Deep Roads. They could erupt anywhere, including in Gwaren."

"I know. Would you have me leave Ferelden?" She turned to look at him, knowing that he would understand the question to be rhetorical. They were both too Fereldan to answer this question but one way. It was one of the reasons they had fallen in love, despite the political foundation of their marriage. "Our people will be frightened. The banns were not happy with you today and they are unsettled about what has been said of my family, but in Gwaren I might still do some good. I am Teyrna and it is my place."

Ellie would have liked for him to say that her place was with him and that he needed her help, too, but this also was not Loghain's way. One hand worked at his jaw and he avoided her eyes. She could see him fighting. Finally he said, "I don't like it. Here I can protect you and our boy. I won't leave Denerim again. You won't be left alone unless matters grow dire."

"You have some sort of agreement with Howe, don't you?" Though he had never acknowledged as much, it was obvious. "As long as that is in place, he will not act against you or me. When you are ready for that to change, send for me. Just don't let it take too long."

Loghain turned. "Ellie, I..." He stopped. Whatever assurance or promise he might have given, he thought better of it and said nothing. Instead he slid towards her and leaned in to kiss her, awkwardly at first, then with more determination. For all that she felt hurt and dismayed, felt that a blow had been struck at her trust in him which might be permanent, Ellie did not stop him. Indeed she began to respond, though not without guilt. In her chambers that night, they made love wordlessly. It was heated, but more with desperation than with passion, and Loghain did not look at her.

It took a week to make the arrangements and to wait for passage. Even in wartime trade still had to flow, however the merchants were being cautious, and most of the coin was anyway to be had in Denerim, where Loghain was re-supplying his armies.

On the day they were to depart, Ellie left Gareth with Anya at home and started out for the palace. At the residence gate, Cauthrien met her. Though she would always have passed Ellie by with a stiff "m'lady," this time the knight stood square, blocking her path.

"Ser Cauthrien," Ellie greeted her brusquely. "I have much to do this morning, if you will excuse me."

"Don't go."

The two women stared. Cauthrien rarely spoke, and always with deference. If the knight had hit Ellie in the face with a board, she would not have been more surprised. "I... I don't..."

"It's not my place, and my lord would not be pleased to hear me speak to you like this. But these are dark times and maybe we're all doing things we oughtn't. So I beg you: Don't go. Stay with him."

As she recovered from her shock, Ellie was moved. She had sometimes been jealous of the unflagging trust Loghain put in his second, of the shorthand and accord they had which seemed more straightforward than her own more complicated relationship with him. Rumors said Cauthrien was in love with him, but if that were true, the knight had never given Ellie any sign. "I wish I could. I'm glad that you'll be with him, at least. These are dark times indeed, ser knight. Watch out for him."

Cauthrien hesitated, and Ellie had the wild notion that her protest might come to a duel of swords. The knight was also known for her tenaciousness. With bowed head, however, she stepped out of Ellie's way. "Be assured, your ladyship. May the Maker watch over you."

"And you."

Ellie found Anora in her study. The queen rose from her desk and invited her into the side parlor, bidding her elven maid to see that they weren't disturbed.

After tea had been offered and refused, Anora folded her hands and regarded the teyrna with eyes that were shadowed and red-rimmed. Otherwise her demeanor was as correct as always. "Have you come to ask me to honor the other side of our arrangement?"

"Arrangement?" Ellie asked, uncomprehending.

"Your marriage agreement. If you recall, there was an annulment provision. You and I agreed that should there be grievous breach in carnal or filial loyalty or a reduction of my father's fortunes, I would not hinder you. Are we at that place now?"

Ellie was at a loss. It was another lifetime, another Elissa Cousland who had plotted and jousted over a union with Loghain like one of Gareth's beloved chess games. In that life, her greatest fear had been Cailan's goodwill toward her family. It seemed a quaint priority now that she no longer had a family. Shaking her head, Ellie answered, "I came to say our farewells. This is a dangerous game you and Loghain are playing. I understand why you feel you have to do it, but this time you will not be able to have it all, Anora. Political coyness can only get you so far."

The queen had obviously been expecting Ellie to accept her offer of annulment. She expelled a breath. "But you are reconciled to it, for now. You know that Father is only doing what is best. He is doing this for you."

"So he tells me. And are you content to let him speak for you?"

Anora paled a little and twisted her hands, stepping away. "It is only for a time. Father was also Maric's regent when the king was away from court, and Cailan's too."

"You are right here."

"Until the Landsmeet can convene to affirm that I rule alone, it is better this way." She did not sound convinced.

Ellie stepped closer. "I'm sorry about Cailan. Truly I am."

"Ah, well." Anora looked over at her and smiled. It was not a friendly smile. "He always did love you best, Elissa. Now I can say it, at least: You won, fair and square."

It was Ellie's third turn to be shocked that day. Her face flushed, mostly with anger, though there was a pinprick of shame. "That was a long time ago, Anora. We were foolish girls. It is better not to speak of it."

"I was certainly foolish," the queen nodded. Bitterness that she had apparently held in check for years laced her tone. "My father's experience should have taught me that even a long betrothal and a good friendship does not mean love will follow. Maybe it cannot follow. I saw how he looked at you, but Cailan was my friend, my only friend. I dared you to seduce him because I thought it was a wager I could not lose. I have since learned to place my bets more carefully."

Ellie wanted nothing more than to be gone, and never to speak of Cailan again. In a dull voice she replied, "Gareth and I leave for Gwaren this morning. I don't know when I'll return to Denerim. Take care of yourself, Anora." She turned on her heel to leave, but the queen called her back.

"I'm sorry," Anora began, fumbling. "I'm sorry. This has been a stressful time for all of us. You and Gareth are my family now. I wish to say..." She looked at Ellie, appearing to weigh her mood, then went on with a nervous gesture. "I wish to say, Elissa, that we are also your family. What was done to you is unforgivable. I have not forgotten that, nor will I."

Their eyes met. Ellie did not know how much the promise meant, but when she had so little to cling to, the word of Loghain's daughter and of her queen was no small thing. Voice catching, she replied sincerely, "Thank you."

Returning home, Ellie had one more stop to make. Slowly she walked through the garden, surveying the half-completed projects which now would be finished by someone else, or more likely not at all. She paused at Cutha's grave and stood there until Anya came to find her. It was time to go to the ship.

Gareth was always fond of sailing, but as they waited on the quay for the ship to be loaded, he hung tightly to Loghain's side and didn't say much. Finally it was time for them to board and Loghain urged him forward with a hand on the boy's back.

As they reached the gangplank, he pulled something from his pocket and showed it to Gareth. "I'll keep this for a while longer, if you don't mind, lieutenant." It was the wooden figure of a knight of Gwaren that the boy had given his father long ago, since he could not himself accompany Loghain on his many trips away from home. The original paint had long since worn off, but Ellie had seen Loghain one night in his study, painstakingly repainting it.

Shrugging, Gareth attempted a brave apathy. "You can if you want." His face fell, however, and his displeasure at the turn of events was evident in a most Loghain-like frown.

Smiling, his father mussed his hair and leaned down for a last kiss on his forehead. "Go on now, Gareth. I shall see you again soon. Don't forget your promise." There had been several promises extracted of him, but one of them had been that Gareth would practice his writing on letters to his father. As the boy turned and went off with dragging steps to where Anya waited, Loghain turned to Ellie. They gazed silently at each other, and finally he reached a hand to hold her cheek, fingers burying in her hair. "It doesn't have to be this way."

"It does, and you know why. You always say that if you do what you have to, the rest falls into place. We'll just have to see about that last part. I am trusting you, for now." He nodded, resigned, and leaned in to kiss her lightly. As he drew back, she clutched his hand. "Be careful, Loghain. You've seen what Howe can do."

"I have also seen what the Orlesians and darkspawn can do. I have to take my chances with Howe." There was no point in arguing it again, so Ellie smiled at him, a tired smile that did not touch her eyes. As she turned to go, Loghain called after her. "Remember what I told you, about the boat. And for pity's sake, don't stay down there just because you're too damned proud to come back."

Ellie turned. "You're forgetting the first rule."

Loghain frowned in puzzlement, then remembered. "Right, of course. I am not allowed to forbid you anything. Call it a strong suggestion, then."

At another parting, they might have laughed, but this one was too painful and felt too permanent. The sailors were throwing off the rigging, and Anya and Gareth already stood at the rail looking down at them. After holding his eyes a moment longer, Ellie lifted a hand. "Maker watch over you. Husband."


	28. Chapter 28

9 Solace, 9:30 Dragon Age.

As sailors shouted and the ship pulled back from the quay, Ellie remembered Cauthrien's words and a bolt of regret seized her. _Don't go. Stay with him. _Loghain was a receding figure on the dock, watching as the heavily laden merchant vessel slugged, seeking the Hafter currents. He walked, guards trailing him, so as to keep the ship in sight, lifting a hand each time Gareth waved at him. Whatever she might want, it was too late to turn back.

A boatswain's boy ran past shouting something that caught her attention. She grabbed the boy's arm to halt him. "What did you say? Lothering's been destroyed?"

"Aye, m'lady. The _Tansy_ just came in from Gwaren this morning and brung the news. Whole village has been taken by the darkspawn."

Ellie let the boy go and turned, catching a last glimpse of the dark-haired figure on the quay. He would be hearing the news soon, if he had not already. It wouldn't change anything. He had come through Lothering on the way north and brought most of its militia with him. The risk to the village was known, and had been accounted for. She wondered what other things were on the balance sheet next to it. Remembering suddenly, Ellie turned to her companion. "Anya, your family. They were still in Lothering?"

The mage wore a deep frown. "What there was of 'em."

"Maker's breath. I am so sorry. How stupid of me! We should have gone years ago. I could have taken you, but I never even..."

"No, m'lady," Anya replied, shaking her head. "If I'd have wanted that, I'd have spoken up. Better to let that dog lie. I don't suppose it matters much now."

Ellie fell silent, then looked back at the shore. Denerim was a receding jumble as they tacked past Hafter Point and out to the sea, the men in the small escort vessels waving as they fell back. Gareth was already off with Alun Marwell, watching the ship's men ready the main sails. It was a clear day and the spring storms were behind them. They were expected to make good time to Gwaren.

After a long silence, Anya spoke up at Ellie's elbow. "He's a good man, m'lady. He'll do right for you, sooner or later. You'll see."

Ellie regarded her a moment, wanting to believe it. She then gestured with her head towards Alun. "He's a good man, too. I am happy for you, Anya. You have that now, at least."

The mage colored, but allowed a smile. "I didn't think to see it ever in life. Not at my age, nor with my... Well." She stopped, drawing her shawl closer about her.

Cautiously Ellie ventured, "Was there never any other? In Lothering, or in the Tower?"

Though the bright spots remained on her cheeks, Anya's smile vanished. It took some time before she answered. "There was. He was a neighbor boy, just a green hayseed, but I loved him. That wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't to have any friends outside our family, not anyone who could guess my secret and tell the templars. Mother had warned me, all my life she had, but young is young and blood runs as it will."

"Did he ever find out? About you being a mage, I mean."

"I never let him. I wanted to tell him, would've done, then we heard about what happened on another farm south of the village. The farmer's wife was a mage too, or so the templars said. They don't have to prove such things. Only takes a whispered word by someone envious of a neighbor's land. They came in the night and drug her from her bed, killed her husband when he tried to stop them, took the babe from his cradle, carried it off to Denerim or to Orlais for all anyone knew. She'd been heavy with her second and I suppose when that one was born, they took him, too. I never saw her in the Tower, so I can't tell you the right of it, but already I had heard enough. Told my sandy haired boy I didn't ever want to see him again. That summer after the harvest, I turned myself in to the templars. And that's all there is to tell."

"Your family let you do that?"

Anya's eyes tracked a passing ship, but they were distant, remembering. "They took it hard. It's shame on a family, magic is, and we never had much standing to begin with. And they were afraid I'd tell the templars..." She glanced at Ellie with reflexive nervousness. "... tell 'em things I knew. About others in our family. I never did, but there was no way for my people to know. I tried to smuggle letters out, but I got a message back saying not to write any more. I wager they hoped I'd die in my Harrowing, but I was too stubborn for that, even if I might've wished it myself time and again."

Ellie shook her head and reached out a hand, laying it on the other woman's arm. "I'm sorry, Anya. I knew you hadn't had an easy time of it, but you never wanted to talk about it before. Thank you for telling me."

The mage smiled and covered Ellie's hand with her own. "I tell you so you'll know how it is now, your ladyship. You and the little master, you're like my own, my own that I never had. When the templars wanted to take me away from you, I thought I might die if they did. A person can die of less than swords or sickness, simply of not having anyone in the world who'd care if they passed." She paused, then gestured in Alun's direction. "This, I know this won't last. It's just some comfort, a sweet thing. But you ought to know, ladyship, I'd give my last breath for you and for that little boy."

Tears threatened, as they often did in recent days. Compassion could bring them as easily as memory. "You already saved my life more than once, Anya. I can never repay you for what you've done. These are hard times for all of us and I've put you at risk. If there is anything I can do for you, you have only to say the word."

Anya clasped her hand. "What I want is to see you smile again, m'lady, like you used to do. Even before all this last, it was coming to be a rare thing. That palace, the more you were in it, the more your eyes turned... like his lordship's. Teyrn Loghain's. Forgive me, but it's true."

Ellie looked away, calling up Loghain's face in her mind, the familiar crags and the lines, and the hardness in his eyes. Even when it eased for a time with her or Gareth, the brittle in them was never really gone. She supposed that the it had already been there by the time Maric stumbled out of a forest into his path. Her tone rueful, she replied, "If I am coming to seem like him, perhaps it's because I am finally beginning to understand."

They put into Gwaren late the following afternoon and walked up from the quay, to find a flustered housekeeper at the estate.

"We didn't know you was coming, Teyrna," she apologized. "The girls haven't been to market today. I'll send out for a hot meal."

"That's quite alright, Mrs. Gardiner. We'll walk into the village and eat something at the inn."

There was no such thing as an upper class establishment in Gwaren, even those named for Maric's family. When Ellie's small entourage entered the Prince's Rest, charcoal burners and lumbermen made way to give them a table. The looks on patrons' faces were of polite curiosity, but when someone piped up that the lady was the Teyrna herself, turned friendly in Gwaren's gruff way. In her work on behalf of the guilds and for the virtue of having borne them an heir, Ellie was considered less useless than most nobles. The house let her eat in peace, but when the roast was gone a man approached.

"They say a Blight's comin', Teyrna," the man asked, rubbing at his beard. "Is that so?"

"We can't know for sure." Loghain had still denied it, but Ellie was not so sure. The witch's warning, and Duncan's, remained in her mind. There was no call to cause panic, however.

"King dead at Ostagar and now Lothering gone. Gwaren could be next."

She could not deny it. "We must be ready for anything, good ser. The Teyrn is aware of the dangers. I have brought messages to his commanders here."

"Maker praised that he lives. There's something in that." The man shook his head and bowed briefly. "I wish you a good e'en, Teyrna. Little Teyrn." Ellie nodded acknowledgement, and from Gareth the man received a gap-toothed grin in return.

As her group made for the door, the innkeeper called Ellie over to inform her that the town was flush with refugees from the north. The seneschal was having a time of it with their disputes and pleas for passage out of Ferelden, and the Chantry with food and clothing. There would be trouble soon, the man predicted. Ellie thanked him and promised to look into it the following morning. At the estate, Mrs. Gardiner and the maids were still scurrying, setting out fresh rushes and airing the bedrooms. Gareth made a beeline for Harel and threw himself bodily towards the elderly valet. A rasping sound that could have been laughter came from the old elf's throat as he patted his admirer's head and feebly returned his hug.

"Gareth, leave the poor man be," Ellie said with a smile. "You are looking well, Harel."

When at last released by Gareth, Harel stepped closer and peered up at her. "Teyrn?"

"Loghain is fine, but he remains in Denerim."

The servant's face fell, but he nodded. That evening Ellie found him in Gareth's room, painstakingly unpacking the trunk that had been brought up from the harbor, taking one garment at a time to the dresser. He was so frail that even this seemed to tax him, but Ellie did not interfere. The elf took pride in his work and apparently had appointed himself Gareth's valet in Loghain's stead.

Tired from the journey, Gareth settled to sleep easily. Ellie did not have the same luck. After an hour of tossing, she rose, took a lamp and went next door to Loghain's room. It had been a year since he had been at the estate, but there was a familiar leathern musk to the room, acrid with old books, sharp from blade grease and boot rosin. She did not bother to build a fire, only buried herself in the bedclothes and allowed the lamp to burn down, staring at the wyvern shield that hung over the mantle.

* * *

26 Solace, 9:30 Dragon Age. Denerim.

"They're holding? Just like that?"

"It's like I said. The Orlesians turned back and scouts say they're holding. They pulled back to..." The young sergeant found the spots on the map again, strongholds in Orlesian territory near Ferelden's western border. "...here and here. Pickets have caught no scouts crossing, not chevalier nor Grey Warden."

"But they haven't left the border area," Loghain pressed. "All four legions remain there." He stood over a table full of maps and diagrams, interrogating the young sergeant Riven had chosen to send to Denerim as his messenger. The Gwaren lieutenant knew Loghain and chose someone sober and knowledgeable, no nobleman's nursling. The armies of Ferelden had a goodly number of solid, professional men in their officer ranks, for no other reason than Loghain Mac Tir made sure that they did.

"If I had to guess, I'd say no," the sergeant replied. "They're watching us just like we're watching them. Chevalier patrols, heavy horse, not the usual border rangers. What are your orders, Teyrn Loghain?"

Loghain had thought this through and answered immediately. "Fall back. Leave scouts, but pull the main force back. If they come across then, we'll know why, and we want them in the mountain passes with full force when we meet them. In the meantime let them think we've pulled back to fight the darkspawn."

There was a pause, and another man spoke up, cautiously. "Are we? Going to fight the darkspawn? Lothering..."

"Lothering is gone," said Cauthrien from where she stood in one corner at Loghain's side, arms crossed. Her tone dared any man in the room to question one of his orders.

"If Ostagar could not be defended, neither could the village," Loghain agreed. "A loss, but one we must accept. Supposing the horde surfaces again, we cannot meet them with small force."

Riven's messenger spoke up again. "What of Redcliffe, your grace? We met knights abroad who say the arl's taken ill, but they wouldn't join us nor return with word to their castle. They say they're on a pressing errand for the arlessa."

"Seeking Andraste's ashes," Howe supplied, his tone laced with sarcastic amusement. There had been Redcliffe knights in Denerim, too, and all told the same tale. "What a surprise that our fair Orlesian should find something other for her knights to do than to turn back chevaliers from our border."

Loghain smiled wryly, but lifted a hand to calm the murmurs in the room. He had not yet decided what to do about Eamon himself. There would be trouble there, no matter what course he took. "We cannot count on Redcliffe now. What of the Bannorn?" With this he looked back at Howe, who was tasked with securing the Bannorn's forces. It seemed prudent to keep him and his men busy and out of Denerim as much as possible.

The new teyrn shook his head. "They are divided, sire. A few are refusing to send troops and are calling for you to step down from the regency. Our allies fear to send their men in case those others take advantage."

"Yes, I hear that can happen sometimes when the country is at war," Loghain observed, his tone dry.

Rendon laughed nervously. For all his brashness, he was still the new player, still eager for acceptance among the old guard. "Yes. Well, I am reasonably sure I know who is leading the dissenters." He shuffled through the maps on the table until he found a detailed one of the Bannorn. After a moment's search he pointed to a large holding in the west of the region. "Granish Falls, sire. Bann Bronach called a meeting of other lords up in his keep and is directing them from there. Cut his head off and perhaps the others will fall in line."

Loghain leaned forward to examine the place. It was deep in the Bannorn and protected by natural features on three sides, the bann's keep at the head of a treacherous ravine. Little surprise that a lord holed up in its cleft would feel confident enough to start making demands. "Damn their eyes," he muttered, straightening once more. This was a game the Bannorn liked to play, jockeying for influence amongst one another and for power relative to Denerim and the larger holdings. They had done so during the rebellion, too. Loghain had hoped that the Orlesian and darkspawn threat would have cut the game short this time. A civil war while the country was threatened on two fronts, that was the last thing he needed.

"Let me take care of it, sire," Howe offered.

Loghain looked back. "You're very eager."

"I was under the impression that troops were needed." Howe's tone took on a caustic edge. "I have them, if you'll recall. Do you see any others running to your aid?"

The other men in the war room were watching them. Uneasy bedfellows among the top tier would make for uneasy troops. You had to know that you could trust the man next to you. Loghain didn't trust Howe at all, but for their sake it would have to appear that he did. "As you will. I must send more of my men to the west, so I give you leave to deal with Bronach. Negotiate with him if you can, and if not, cut him down. Either way, we have no time to lose."

"I will not fail you."

Loghain turned to Riven's messenger. "Good work, young man. You've ridden hard, so go find a meal and a bed. I'll want to talk to you again in the morning. Dismissed for now, all of you."

Rendon lingered behind. When the room was cleared of all all but the two of them, he produced a leaflet and let it fall in front of Loghain. It was a bounty poster for a Grey Warden, marked with the seal of the Arl of Denerim. Though the printer's plate had badly reproduced what was probably a bad sketch to begin with, Loghain could guess which Grey Warden was depicted. Ellie's eyes stared out at him from a young man's face.

He read it, then looked back to Howe. "Dead or alive?"

"We can take no chances. Your plan to circulate rumor that the Wardens were responsible for Cailan's death has worked. The people speak of it as a solemn truth and are passing the word along. It shouldn't get out that you're working with one of them because he's your kinsman in marriage."

Loghain's eyes narrowed. "Don't play games with me. It's obvious what you stand to gain in this. A terrible inconvenience for you that the only Warden to survive Ostagar is a Cousland."

"Perhaps not the only Warden to survive. There were others with him." Howe waited, the pause giving emphasis to what he was about to say. "They were seen with an Orlesian woman. She wore Chantry dress, but used daggers like no sister. She was helping them."

"A bard?"

"Undoubtedly. Empress Celene is using the Chantry, but that should come as no surprise to you."

"Damn." Loghain closed his eyes and turned away, his shoulders falling slightly. He had suspected all along that the Wardens of Ferelden were working with those of Orlais, who were no doubt under Celene's thumb. Nor was it indeed any surprise that the Orlesians would use the Chantry. They had seen it in the rebellion and more recently in the Dragon Society activities Howe had helped uncover. A secretive mercenary order with international cachet provided excellent cover, and so did the pious face of the priestesses who answered to the Divine in Val Royeux. Witting or not, Cousland was in the Empress' mesh and would be working her purposes behind the scenes. Loghain called up the image again of Ellie and her brother standing in the foyer at the residence, laughing and joking, with Cutha and Gareth there. It seemed like a hundred years ago. He barely heard when Rendon spoke up again.

"I have arranged for a solution, sire," Howe was saying. "With your leave."

When Loghain turned, another man had entered, an elf, blonde and deeply tanned, wearing leather armor and daggers in his belt. Elves were forbidden to bear arms in Ferelden, but when the man spoke up in a sonorous, thickly accented voice, it was apparent why he was an exception. "The Antivan Crows send their regards."

Loghain looked from the elf back to Howe, incredulous. "An assassin." He mouthed the word as though he had just drunk of wine turned to vinegar.

"The Grey Wardens are a danger, sire," Rendon insisted. "Even if the boy is not cooperating with the Orlesians, they can use him. For ransom, if nothing else." When he received no answer, Howe's voice lowered, turned sly. "Is there a reason, my lord, why you should wish to protect Orlesians operating in this country?"

Loghain's face darkened. "You dare?"

"I am simply reminding you of your priorities, regent," Howe answered, lip curling. "I should not like anyone to accuse you of protecting Orlesian agents. Or of being wed to one."

A flush of rage clouded Loghain's sight, but he fought it back. Howe was playing with him. He wanted Loghain to be rattled, to make a quick judgment. The two men glared at each other while the elf looked on, glancing between them with a cheeky curiosity.

"No." Loghain said it with decision. This was a line he could not cross, not without talking to the boy first. He had to risk that Howe was bluffing, that he would not play his trump card and accuse Ellie of treason. If the Warden had been anyone else, he might have considered an outside assassin, as uncouth a solution as it was. One death or several was little to ask when so many other lives hung in the balance. This Grey Warden, however, was a different matter.

The elf's eyes fell at Loghain's reply, his disappointment clear. Rendon started up his protests again, but Loghain cut him off. "No assassins. I am regent here. Recall these bounty posters and put out new ones. Cousland is to be brought to me alive and unharmed. _Alive_, do you hear me? We will hold him for questioning, hold him as long as we need to, but I will hear what the boy has to say before I allow you to stick a dagger in his back."

"Better that than an Orlesian dagger in ours. Sire."

"My decision is final."

The Antivan started to speak but Howe stopped him, leaning in to whisper in his ear. Casting a skeptical glance at Loghain, the assassin relented and left. A moment later Howe moved closer. Loghain had the impression of a snake slithering, though whether to strike or merely to coil itself at his feet, that was the question. The new lord of the north could make himself deferential when it suited him. More to the point, he could make himself useful. Even to one like Loghain who was used to getting things done, Rendon Howe's efficiency was startling. It was one of the counterweights to the many disadvantages to their alliance.

"Unwise," Howe murmured, chiding. "There was another report that you should hear, sire. Among the Warden's companions was one reported as a young man bearing a templar shield. Your men said he bore uncanny resemblance to the late king. Have you any idea who that might be?"

Loghain's cheek twitched, though he gave no other sign of his surprise. So Maric's bastard had survived Ostagar, too, and somehow Rendon had learned of his identity. Before he could fill in the implications, Howe did it for him, continuing, "A Theirin Warden, your grace. Think of it. The Bannorn are seeking some way to challenge your daughter's rule. Another weak king of Theirin blood would perfectly suit their purposes. This time a Grey Warden king, too. You might as well hand the scepter over to Celene now." There was a silence before Howe spoke again. "Shall I call the assassin back?"

With one look, Loghain both silenced and dismissed him. Howe lifted a shoulder as though to emphasize that he was only acting the dutiful subordinate, then turned to go. It was late and as Howe left a servant entered and began lighting the tapers on the wall. Loghain waved the servant off, gathered up the most important papers and locked the door behind him. In his study, he called for a meal and took it alone, rifling through field reports as he ate. Afterward he lit a fire. It was early summer but nights were cool even in the north. In Gwaren the mists would still be creeping in the evenings, out of the Wilds and up from the sea, blanketing the village. Ellie was alone there, she and Gareth. Loghain tried not to think of it.

Numbness was called for also as he unlocked a chest in his cupboard and removed a letter marked with the royal seal. Maric's handwriting. Loghain crouched by the hearth, opened it up and read it again by the firelight. _"I hereby claim as my own blood Alistair of Redcliffe, lately ward of the templars, and charge that in extreme need he be put into the line of succession as my heir. This is to be done only in the event of..."_ In the event of. In the event of Cailan throwing away everything that so many had fought and died for so that he could play diplomat and warlord. The bastard was no different in temperament and even less trained than Cailan, and somehow the Orlesians had caught wind of him, too, and were grooming a new pawn.

With a flick of his wrist, the letter landed in the hearth. Loghain watched while the flames licked at the edges and the wax of the seal dissolved, the hounds rampant melting together and disappearing.

"I'm doing this for you," he argued at the fire. It might have been a campfire like many he and Maric had shared while Orlesians hunted them. "Thirty years and they haven't stopped. They never will. You made me promise to carry out that letter, but before that you made me swear that I would never put one man above Ferelden as I did at West Hill. Not even you." Five years gone, and Loghain couldn't see Maric's face clearly any more, nor guess what his friend might say to where that promise had taken him. Loghain decided it was better that he couldn't.

By the time he retrieved the whiskey bottle, the ashes had fallen, mingling with those of the wood. Loghain drank a few swallows, the warmth settling him, and his eyes drifted to the wall where his maps had been moved aside to accommodate a portrait of Ellie. It was to be a formal thing, but after her sitting Loghain had found the artist and requested him to improvise. The artist was Gwaren born and understood immediately. In the finished work Ellie looked out, hair loose and wearing hunting clothes, standing alongside a stone wall of the sort that lined many a Gwaren seacoast pasture. She looked much as she had on the day of the wedding hunt, the day she and Loghain first spoke to one another in private. Noble ladies did not commission such informal portraits, but the artist's daring had gone a step further than even Loghain intended. His version of Ellie wore a frank look and hint of an ironic smile, and the laces of her shirt were open just enough to suggest what lay beneath her neck. Ellie was embarrassed when she saw the finished painting and ordered her husband to put it out of sight. Loghain was perturbed, too, to think the artist had gazed on his wife long enough to see such details. He then paid the man double the agreed fee, and hung it prominently in his study.

Looking on her in the dim flicker of firelight, Loghain smiled first, then sobered. Ache mingled with guilt. Though necessity had driven the Howe alliance, she deserved better from him. One day he had casually suggested to Howe one day that Ellie rule the north in his stead. The Amaranthine lord laughed, replying with a derision likely more honest than he intended, "I know that you are fond of your little spitfire, but we are men of reason. For all that she does well enough playing at politics here at court and likes to brandish her sword, Elissa is weak. You really ought to take that toy away from her."

The misjudgment of Ellie had made Loghain smile a secret smile. It was better that Howe think she was no threat. Though Loghain did not share Howe's assessment of his wife, it had not been a serious suggestion. They were on war footing, and she was untried and was the mother of a small child. Men would follow a woman like that into battle. Swordplay was one thing, but leading men in war quite another, a lesson Cailan had never learned. When the peace was secured, that would be another matter. If the younger Cousland was alive and could be extracted from the Wardens' influence, so much the better for their chances of restoring a Cousland-Mac Tir alliance. That was the best chance they had to secure all of them and Anora's throne as well.

Loghain stared a while longer at the portrait, until the emptiness it wore in him made him turn away. He sank slowly into an easy chair and nursed the whiskey a short while, watching the fire die down. Never a great drinker, he soon set the bottle aside. The palace grew quiet. This was the best part about lack of sleep, the stillness. It amplified worry, but sometimes brought clarity, too. Decisions could be made. Towards the middle of the night, Loghain made one. It was not as much as Ellie what she wanted, but he could give her something. A quick end to what threatened all of them would mean a quicker end to the arrangement that had driven her away.

The following morning, he appeared at Howe's door early and ordered the guards to wake their lord. Loghain was already dressed and armored. Howe appeared quickly, pulling on a dressing gown and bleary-eyed. Wasting no time, Loghain commanded, "You're to shore up our support in the eastern Bannorn. Make sure there are no wolves at my back, do you understand? I'm going to see to Bann Bronach myself."

By the time Howe could mumble "yes, sire," the regent was already gone.

* * *

28 August, 9:30 Dragon Age. Iachus Valley, Central Bannorn.

On a hay field above the dale, with a good view of the village and the bann's estate beyond, Loghain's army assembled and made rendezvous at midday with a small force commanded by Rendon Howe. The farmer's first cutting of hay had been brought in and the second would now be trampled, but that could not be helped. The farmer himself, surrounded as he was by armed men, was being generous to a fault.

Loghain and Howe met at the center of the field, both in good spirits.

"Sire, how marvelous to see you hale," Howe greeted him, clasping his arm. "Word is already spreading of the surrender at Grannis Falls. Not a man of ours lost? Can that be true?"

"It is. A few slit throats can be very persuasive. What news do you bring from the eastern Bannorn and Denerim?"

"Trouble. But first you should hear something." Rendon turned and gestured at one of his men. From further back in the ranks, a man was brought forward, hands bound. Blood seeped from bandaged wounds on his head and leg. Loghain surveyed him critically as Howe continued, "We encountered resistance in some of the smaller holdings, sire, but this one had a tale to tell when he was taken." He turned to the prisoner. "Speak up, cur. This is the regent before you."

The man blanched and nodded, shooting Loghain a fearful glance. "I don't know much, sers, honest. But I heard the bann and his sons talking. They said the Cousland whore- begging your pardon, m'lords, but that's what they said- was still alive and her brat, too, how they was in Gwaren, and how if the bann's men could get them for ransom then the regent would have to listen."

Loghain's jaw set. "And?"

"The men argued. Ser Tristan said it was too dangerous, that the regent would come down on 'em like a ratter on the scent. But Bann Cormac called him a coward, said Loghain Mac Tir bleeds like any other man and his wife was no better than any common wench. Ser." The prisoner's hand shook. He wasn't happy to be a bearer of such volatile news.

"Bann Cormac? So it's ap Feil." Loghain glanced from the prisoner to Howe, who nodded confirmation. It was the slippery bann who had been trying to convince Bryce Cousland to do greater business with the Orlesians, a plan revealed to Loghain by the bann's wife, Regan.

"And Bann Matthus, sers," the prisoner added. "From Oswin. He was there, too."

Loghain turned again to Howe. "Do you credit this threat? Is there any news from Gwaren?"

"None that I have heard, your grace. I am abroad as you are. As for whether to take the threat seriously... well." Howe shrugged. "The banns talk."

They did indeed, and were quick to make threats. In Grannis Falls, Bann Bronach's demand that Loghain step down from the regency had also been big talk, too. He had thought his keep too well defended to be taken. Fluid alliances could work for the goose as well as the gander in the Bannorn, however. Rather than try to assault the keep from its protected valley, Loghain found a rival neighbor who showed them how to approach it from behind and above. The keep was set against a sheer cliff face, requiring a treacherous descent using ropes. Loghain and four other men had done it at night, dropping onto an abandoned tower and from there making their way into the main halls. No alarm was ever raised. The following morning, servants found the bann and his guards with throats cut. The bann's nephew and heir immediately surrendered Grannis Falls and its fighting men to Loghain. These were sent westward to join Riven's forces at the border. It all had taken more time than Loghain had hoped, but they had lost no men. By then there was news that Bann Torval of Iachus Valley was also declaring against him.

Loghain paced a few steps away, weighing what to do. From his high vantage, he could see the scurry of activity around the keep in the valley below. They were preparing for battle. The strategy here was show of force, not stealth. Even with many of Loghain's men at the western border, it should be an easy fight. Both Oswin and ap Feil's lands were on the way back to Denerim. With decisive victories at Grannis Falls and Iachus Valley, by the time they reached him, Cormac ap Feil would likely be singing a different tune. He and his kin had always had more mouth than courage.

Turning back to Howe, Loghain said, "Rest your men. There will be a battle tomorrow, unless Bann Torval grows some sense overnight."

"And Elissa?"

"It's just talk. The threat is here. We will bring these dogs to heel, down to the last man, and put an end to all this. That is the best thing I can do for my wife and son." Loghain cast a last glance on the doomed keep below them before turning back toward his tents.

As he walked away, Howe called, "What of the prisoner? I had thought to hang him."

Loghain looked back at the man, who was sputtering and begging for his life. "Give him quarter. Perhaps we'll find a use for him."

When he reached his tent, Loghain glanced back and saw that the prisoner had been taken away. Howe was still watching him, arms crossed.


	29. Chapter 29

_I apologize for a long delay in updating. Some chapters come with more struggle than others. In the meantime I picked up _The Road_ by Cormac McCarthy, and I'd be lying if I said this chapter doesn't owe that fine, heartrending book a debt. Thanks always for your readership. -A._

* * *

6 August, 9:30 Dragon Age. Gwaren.

_Elissa,_

_I write in haste and probably should not be telling you this at all. There are reports your brother is alive. If the reports are true, he's also been seen in the company of an Orlesian bard. If he contacts you, it is most important that you send him to me. It is just a rumor, Ellie._

_There is much else I could say, but I am to the Bannorn at first light. You and Gareth are often in my thoughts. I have enclosed a few instructions for my seneschal. Remember what I told you about the boat._

_L.M.T._

Ellie's hand shook as she lowered Loghain's letter. Trying to absorb her husband's news, she watched Gareth in his circuit around the stableyard of the Gwaren estate. He rode a coal-black, shaggy southern pony. Loghain had planned to get him a pony for Satinalia and himself to train the boy in Denerim, but events had overtaken that plan. The Gwaren stablemaster and Ellie were filling in.

"Lower your heels," she called, and nodded approval as Gareth complied. Her thoughts were far removed from horsemanship, however.

The letter changed nothing. Howe was still in the north, the Couslands still ghosts. It changed everything. Fergus was _alive_.

A week later, as Ellie strolled with Anya through the crowded market, the dwarven weapons merchant Hedar called her over to his stall. There was a group of Dalish elves trading their goods, and the dwarf turned to beckon one of them. The woman who stepped forward was a slight thing, dark hair tied up in loose braids, dressed in sweat-stained leathers patched many times over and marked with colorful elven symbols. On her forehead was an intricate tattoo worked in bright blue colored ink.

"This is the Teyrna," Hedar told the elf, gesturing.

The Dalish woman looked Ellie up and down, unimpressed. "I bring a letter for you, shemlen. I give it only to your hand." She produced a small leather roll from her pocket and handed it over. "My debt is now paid." Face still impassive, she turned to go.

Ellie frowned in puzzlement, took the roll and untied its laces. Her heart leapt as she recognized the script:

_Ellie- I made it out of that blasted Wilds, went to Denerim looking for you but along the way heard you were in Gwaren. Good. H's men are everywhere up there. He's hanging anyone in Highever who ever knew us. What is Loghain thinking, working with him? Never mind, H is not the real danger anymore. I can't be sure, but I think this is really a Blight. Can you get out of Ferelden? You should go. I'm going to try to stop it if our allies will aid us. You'll know where I am by who brings this letter. Don't worry about me, I've got some help. I'll try to contact you again soon. Watch your back, Smelly. -Pup._

As she stared at the words, Ellie's sight blurred with tears. She stared some more. Through her haze she heard the dwarf speaking.

"Teyrna? Everything alright, Teyrna?"

Ellie looked up, a smile breaking through the wetness in her eyes. Seized with laughter, she leaned over, grabbed Hedar's shirt and planted a kiss on his hairy cheek, setting the dwarf to stammering. "Do you know, Hedar, that you have saved my life?" This drew a blank look from the merchant. She reached down to pull out her boot dagger and waved it at him. "This Gwaren toothpick. It killed a bandit in Denerim. It might have saved me again from some men who held me prisoner, but magic saved that day. Still, it felt good to have it with me."

"Oh, uh... that's good," Hedar answered skeptically. "You feeling well, Teyrna? Should I call a surgeon?"

"You are a fine man," Ellie declared, ignoring the questions. "You sold me a fine dagger. And this, this is a good day."

"Should've charged more," the dwarf mumbled as she turned away.

Ellie looked for the Dalish in the crowd, wanting to question them, but they had disappeared. She could not imagine why Fergus was with the Dalish, but since kept mostly to the Brecilian Forest, it meant he was close by. He might even be on his way to see her. The thought of him in that wood would normally have been alarming, since only the desperate braved its deep recesses. It was a relief for now. The Couslands qualified as desperate. Though Loghain's influence could protect Ellie from Howe, she did not know if it would extend to Fergus.

Home again, Ellie crossed the courtyard towards the house and noticed Alun in the stable doorway, leaning against the doorjamb with his back to her. Handing her parcels off to Anya, Ellie crossed to him. The guard gave her a silent nod, then gestured with his head towards some feed sacks. A set of small boots protruded into the air from their midst. Gareth had flopped down, feet in the air, and fallen asleep there. Two barn cats, a thick, woolly grey and a tabby, were curled up in circular mounds of fur on either side of the boy's head.

Ellie smiled sadly. She kept her voice low, though Gareth was oblivious to the noise of the stable. "He still has nightmares. Doesn't sleep well at night."

"Rarely so peaceful during the daytime, either," Alun observed softly.

"No." Ellie colored with embarrassment. "I know he's been difficult lately. It's not you he's angry with, it's me. He wants his father." She stared at the boy, regret roiling in her stomach like sour whiskey. "Blood and death and politics. He's too little for all this."

The guardsman cast a glance at her, face impassive. He was never easy to read. "It happens, m'lady. Boys become men. Sometimes better men for not having had it easy."

"You mean Loghain."

"King Maric, too," Alun nodded.

The royal guardsman had been fond of Maric, Ellie knew, and despondent over his loss. There had been no such agony for Cailan. "And you?" she asked him.

Alun shook his head. "I knew war as a boy, but only from a distance."

"Your father was a smith. I remember. Why did you not carry on his trade?"

The guardsman looked pained, then answered, "The Orlesians, they had their own armorers, but when the work got to be too much they came to us. My father took those contracts. I was errand boy." He stopped, glanced at her. "The helmets and swords I took up to the garrison, some of them maybe were used against Prince Maric, and against that boy's father. You feel there's a debt to be paid there, m'lady. As soon as I could, I left the smithy and joined the king's men."

The guardsman looked away and Ellie saw that the subject was closed. She nodded mutely. Remembering, she held up the leather pouch. "I got a letter from Fergus. My brother is alive."

Alun's face remained expressionless, but his dark eyes softened. "That's good news. Where is he?"

"With the Dalish, I think. He didn't say for sure." She hesitated, then went on, "So, you can tell Loghain that his suspicions were true. Some of them, at least. I don't know about the Orlesian."

There was a pause. Ellie had never let on that she knew Alun was watching her and reporting back to Loghain. He sent the letters through the militia, not with the usual post. She wondered if he would deny it, but the guardsman neither smiled nor flinched, merely answered with his usual gravity, "He'll be glad to hear it."

Ellie did smile, a little. She didn't like secrets, especially between her and Loghain, but both men had good intent and they both made terrible spies. It was amusing to see them try. "Go on, Alun. I'll watch over Gareth." She stepped over to the feed sacks and eased herself down on them. The tabby cat looked up and the grey cat cracked open one eye, but her son went on snoring softly. Ellie lay on her side, arm resting on her head, and watched him until she, too, dozed a little. When a cart came into the yard, she lifted her head to look. Alun was seated on a barrel in the yard, in line of sight of her and Gareth. He appeared to have been there the whole time.

As Ellie made to stand, Gareth suddenly started awake, eyes wide, struggling to rise against the pull of the sacks. Both cats scattered. Ellie laid a hand on the boy's arm. "You're alright, sweet. Everything's alright."

"Mamma." Gareth looked at her uncomprehendingly, then slumped. "I was dreaming."

"What did you dream about?"

"Nothin."

Ellie pursed her lips but didn't press. She was surprised when after a moment Gareth sidled across the sacks and rested his head in her lap. He began to play with the fabric of her dress, pinching it between two fingers. "Can we go home?"

"We are home." It was a comfortable lie. Gwaren was home after a fashion, but nowhere was really home any longer.

"When is da coming here?"

"You know he can't. He's fighting in the Bannorn right now. But I have wonderful news, Gareth. Uncle Fergus is alive. He sent me a letter." Gareth shifted, leaning on her lap and examining her face. Ellie could see that he wasn't sure whether to believe her. "Look," she said, unlacing the pouch and unrolling the letter again. The boy stared at it, then took it and sat up. Gareth could read a little, and Ellie helped him sound out the words he didn't know.

"Pup. And Smelly." Gareth giggled, then glanced back at his mother and asked worriedly, "Are we leaving Ferelden?"

Ellie thought a while before answering. Finally she replied, "No. Not now. But come on, I have something I want to show you."

They went out the back gate. Alun got up from his perch, trailing along behind them as Ellie took an eastward path out of the village and toward the sea. She and Gareth often went on walks here or along the forest edge. They were fun outings to the four year-old, but Ellie wanted him to be as familiar with the area around Gwaren as he was with the palace gardens in Denerim. Their experience hiding in the city's underbelly had taught her some lessons. "They know how to hide," Anya had said of the apostates that had helped them. Moving through alleys and rooftops, sewers and abandoned buildings, sometimes just steps ahead of Howe soldiers, Ellie had learned the virtue of knowing a place.

Gareth sometimes ran ahead or off the path, but never far. That was a habit he'd picked up during their days of hiding, too. He would always return and clasp her hand, showing her whatever treasure he had picked up.

As they began to hear waves crashing, he asked, "Are we going swimming?"

"Today? You'd turn into an ice block." The sun was still warm with summer, but the air was starting to turn misty with autumn's onset and southern seas were always cold.

For once Gareth didn't argue. After some minutes he spoke up again. "Da is fighting again? Fighting darkspawn?"

"No, he's fighting against some of the banns. He's trying to get their armies."

"And Uncle Fergus is trying to get an army, too?"

"So it seems." She guessed where this was going.

"Maybe they can fight together." At Ellie's silence, Gareth glanced up at her. "They can't, because of the bad men. Uncle Fergus is afraid of them, too. Why doesn't da just send those men away? Or... or kill them."

Tight-lipped, Ellie felt her bile rising. It had seemed important to still try to shelter Gareth from the truth as much as possible, but it obviously wasn't working. His fears were only being pushed deeper inside, coming out during the moments when he should feel the most secure. Stopping, Ellie knelt on the path and turned the boy to face her. One hand on his arm, she said gravely, "Gareth, Howe's men are keeping away from us because your father is working with them. He doesn't want to do it, but he thinks he has to because of the darkspawn and the Orlesians, and to keep us safe."

"But you're mad at him."

Ellie paused, struggling with the answer. "A little," she admitted, defeated. It was not as if the boy didn't already see it. She went on quickly. "I still love him. We love each other. We just don't agree about this, and we can't be together right now."

"Are you mad at me, too?"

"No. Why would you say that?"

Gareth shrugged. "You sound mad. A lot."

"Only when you misbehave or argue with me." Dismay seized her as Ellie recognized that her son was afraid of more than Howe's men and darkspawn. "Maker's breath, Gareth. None of this is your fault. I'm not mad at you, nor is your father. This is just a rough time."

"Then why won't da come to Gwaren?"

Expelling a sigh, Ellie searched for patience. "We're going to fix it all, Gareth, but we can't right now. You know this, that your father has to fight. Highever is still ours, and someday soon we're going to take it back so Uncle Fergus can go back there, and then your da and I..." She trailed off, unwilling to fill in that blank with an easy promise.

Gareth was frowning. "Highever is ours," he repeated doubtfully. "Da will fight the darkspawn and we'll get it back and then everything will be better."

"Yes. You're a Mac Tir and a Cousland, and we don't give up. We always do our duty."

The frown deepened. "You're going to fight, too, aren't you?"

"No. I'm just telling you how it's going to be. Fergus will fight for Highever, and maybe your father, too, once they've beaten the darkspawn. I'm going to stay with you."

"Always?"

"Always. Until you're old enough that you don't need me anymore. I'll only fight if someone tries to hurt you. I won't let anyone do that."

"You promise you won't go away?"

Ellie pulled him closer, cradling his back with one arm. "I won't. I'll not leave you."

Gareth remained stubborn in his worry, but finally the frown eased a little. "Okay." Ellie smiled and bent to kiss his forehead, then stood to her feet. As they began to walk again, hand in hand, he said, "I'll fight for Highever, too, mamma. When I'm older. If Howe's men are still there."

Smiling, Ellie squeezed his hand. "I hope you won't have to, but thank you, pet."

"It's okay," he answered, voice growing confident again. "I'm a Cousland, too. It's my duty."

When they reached a certain point in the path, Ellie stopped and looked around to make sure there was no one nearby. Then she led Gareth off the path into the scrub. Alun followed at a distance of a few paces. They came to what looked like an impassable rock face, but Ellie kept going, slipping into a narrow cleft that led to a tunnel in the rock. They had to duck to get through, and soon were sloshing in seawater. At high tide there was just a head's length of clearance. Now, at ebb, the water was just up to their ankles.

They emerged into a tiny cove. The sunlight was bright overhead, but an outcropping of rock meant it was no more visible from the sea than it was from the landward side. It was the perfect place to hide a boat, as Maric's rebels had discovered during the war. Loghain brought Ellie here first not long after they married. They made love on the sand, waves crashing against the sheltering rock. Her new husband was eager but still shy, always surprised when she initiated with him. Ellie stood a while, smiling sadly at the memory, but was shaken out of it by Gareth's voice.

"Mamma, there's a boat!"

It was still there, the little skiff moored here first by Loghain for emergencies. Ellie had visited it when she and Gareth arrived in Gwaren, had checked its soundness and packed out its bow and stern with oilcloth-wrapped provisions, food and skeins of fresh water and some weapons and sundries.

She followed after Gareth, gesturing for Alun to come closer. When all of them were gathered, she addressed her son. "Sweet, this is our boat. I want you to remember this place. If something ever goes wrong in the village, if there's trouble and we get separated, don't try to find me. You run here and wait for me. Can you do that? You won't forget the way?"

Gareth looked at her somberly. The discovery of the boat had seemed a great adventure and mystery, but he now understood that it was a different sort of place. "I won't forget," he promised.

Ellie glanced at Alun to make sure he understood as well, then looked back at her son and smiled. "You can swim here a little, if you're crazy enough to do it."

Gareth's mouth broke into a grin and he began shedding clothes. Ellie and Alun sat on the beach and watched while the boy splashed and squawked. "It's freezing!" he yelled back at his mother. "Come in, mamma!"

"Not a chance," she called back, laughing.

After a pause Alun gestured toward the boat with his shaved head and observed quietly, "This might not help with the nightmares."

Ellie kept her eyes trained on her son. "He's living a nightmare, Alun. Maybe instead of letting the monsters chase him in his sleep, we ought to teach him to turn and face them."

"Maybe." The guard sounded as though he wanted to agree.

In the following weeks, neither ship nor the greatly decreased post riders nor any more elves brought news of Fergus. The darkspawn were not retreating into the Deep Roads as Loghain had hoped they would, and their attacks seemed to concentrate on roads rather than settlements. Anxiety grew with rumor and fed more rumors. Loghain was still in the Bannorn and there was talk of a bloodless victory over Bann Bronach. This at least seemed creditable. No one was surprised that Loghain's armies had won with the regent himself commanding them.

Ellie was as hungry for news as anyone else, but had little time for scanning the horizon. The refugee problem had only grown. Tent cities ringed the village, and brought disease and unrest with them. Loghain's commanders scoured the camps, taking able-bodied men and some women away to fill out the militias. In the village Ellie helped train others, volunteers who were not fit for the militia but who could serve as last defense. They were mostly boys and soldier's wives. Some young girls also came out, saying they wanted to be a bowmaiden like the Teyrna. Gareth often accompanied her to their practices, and she had him fitted out with a small bow as well, and began teaching him the forms. When he was old enough to draw a real bow, they would already be second nature. Ellie thought Loghain would approve.

People in Gwaren favored Loghain's victories, nevertheless the mood was changing. Word came from Denerim that the queen wished to take the autumn tax levy early, before Satinalia, and that the rate was increasing in order to pay for the crown's war debts. The news did not sit well. Ellie was called out to help the seneschal deal with the many petitions for waivers. There was sad story after sad story, pleas and promises. Loghain's words to her, that she was like her father and would knuckle under to anyone, sat bitterly in Ellie's mind. It was all the more bitter for being true. She was indeed inclined to be lenient, but with Loghain's warning in mind, held a firm line. As she passed in the street, greetings grew less friendly.

The seneschal urged Ellie to cancel the public Satinalia celebration, but she decided it should go on as usual. The people needed a feast all the more for their troubles, she reasoned. They differed also on whether to limit the celebration to natives and exclude the refugees. "We are all Fereldans," Ellie argued. The sheriff pointed out that the men killing each other in the Bannorn were all Fereldans, too. Nevertheless the Teyrna won out.

On the night of the celebration, she returned from making rounds of preparations in time to change into a black underdress and burgundy velvet kirtle, then help Gareth get into the dark velvets Harel had laid out for him. "I had this made for you," she said, smiling and showing Gareth a golden brooch in the shape of a wyvern with tiny rubies for its eyes.

"Thank you, mamma. I like it," he said gravely as she knelt down to pin his cloak around his shoulders with it. The boy's expression was so serious, and the figure he cut so like a small version of his father, that Ellie's throat was tight as she rose again and took his hand.

The village green was thronged with people. The tension of recent weeks seemed to have dissipated before the music and laughter, and before vas sums of ale provided by the Office of the Teyrn. Gareth begged to join a game of rounders and Ellie reluctantly agreed, unclasping his cloak and laying it over her arm as he skittered off. He was going to ruin the velvets, but that couldn't be helped. Unlike the stories Ellie had heard of Anora's childhood, Gareth liked the village children and most of them liked him in return, despite his occasional attempt to play lordling. He had always preferred the servants' children at the palace to nobles, too.

Ellie watched a time, then stepped over to a tapped cask to refill her mug. A man came up behind her and waited his turn, but as her mug was nearly full, he pressed in behind her, gripping Ellie's arm and letting his other hand rest on the curve of her buttock. She froze, and the man leaned in and spoke next to her ear.

"We're watching you, Teyrna. Not much time left for you."

Her heart was thumping, but Ellie found that her voice was even. "You'll want to step back, ser. Right now." She turned, dropping the ale and Gareth's cloak, and tried to jerk her arm away but the man held it fast. Ellie was gauging which knee could most efficiently rob the man of future heirs when another voice spoke up behind him, the voice of a very determined and outraged boy.

"You get your hands off my mother!" Both the man and Ellie looked around to see Gareth standing there with fists balled, his face still flushed from the rounders game but by then also with anger. He took a step forward and looked ready to launch himself at the man's knees. "Get your hands off her!"

"Gareth, no." Ellie held out a warning hand.

The man was smiling, about to reply, when Ellie saw a flash of metal and heard a sickening crunch. The man lurched forward, smile turning into a gasp of pain, and before he could react found his feet kicked out from under him. Alun stood over the now half-kneeling man, holding him by the tunic with mace poised for another blow. The man saw his situation and held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. Others were starting to notice and gather around them, including more guards.

"Terribly sorry, m'lady," Alun said, his eyes still on the man like hawk on prey. "You want this scoundrel arrested?"

"Yes. Take him in for questioning. He threatened me."

Just then there came shouts from the other side of the green. People ran past and the shouts grew louder, then a woman screamed. Alun only paused a moment before he shoved the man who had accosted Ellie towards the other guards. "Take him in," he barked. "Teyrna, Gareth. Come on. We're getting out of here."

They followed Alun as he pushed people away, bellowing at them to make room. Anya joined them and all of them ran back to the estate, leaving the din of the festival grounds behind them.

Gareth fought sleep, but after a bath and a cup of warm milk he started to droop. When he was in bed, Ellie joined Alun and Anya in the parlor to confer. She told them what the man had said to her.

"I'll double the household guard," Alun said.

Ellie shook her head. "There aren't enough. Most of the garrison has already been sent north to join Loghain's forces, and all the new conscripts too."

The guard was insistent. "We'll find the men. I'll write to the Teyrn if I have to."

"I haven't heard from him in weeks. I don't even know where he is."

Anya waved a hand. "Don't try to argue with Alun, m'lady. Not when he's set like this."

"Do you think this man is one of Howe's? He didn't have a northern accent." When no one answered, Ellie went on, "I don't like this. Alun, send the extra guard into the refugee camps and out to search the forest edge. If Howe has men nearby, I want to know about it. Question everybody."

"As you say, m'lady," Alun agreed.

That night Ellie moved a cot into Gareth's room and slept fitfully. In pre-dawn she awoke to find a solemn figure standing beside the cot looking at her.

"Were you scared, mamma? Is that why you came in here?"

"I just wanted to be near you."

"Oh." The boy climbed up into the cot and settled down next to her. Ellie made room, then settled the blanket around him and draped her arm over his side, cuddling him close.

"Go to sleep," she whispered. "Everything's alright." Soon they both did.

Ellie kept to the estate the next day, despite Gareth's protests that he wanted to go to the market fair in the village. Alun went out to see the seneschal and get the news. When he returned, he told Ellie that a fight had broken out, no one knew exactly who started it or why, but in the end two men were dead and the guard had taken a dozen into custody along with the usual drunks and pickpockets. There would be a trial, likely some hangings, after the fair had concluded. The man who had accosted Ellie had a broken shoulder and had taken a fever. Alun had tried to question him but had not gotten much out of him other than moans and groans.

On the following morning, before dawn, Ellie left a still sleeping Gareth in Anya's watch and went to archery practice at a meadow field on the slope above the estate. Alun and two other guards accompanied her. Ellie was retrieving her arrows on a second round when they heard the village Chantry ringing its bell. They had a good view from their vantage point, and could see two columns of smoke rising from the village. Ellie's stomach twisted as she recognized that one of them was coming from the estate.

"Gareth." She dropped her arrows and taking off at a run down the slope. Alun shouted after her, but Ellie didn't slow.

As she neared the village Ellie heard shouting and the clash of metal, sword on sword. The village bell kept tolling before cutting off abruptly. Black smoke poured out of the estate and covered the whole village. At the back gate of the estate, guards were fighting with other armed men, and servants were fleeing. Ellie looked about frantically, calling for Gareth, and didn't see a man charging at her with weapon drawn until he lay tackled at her feet. Alun had his boot on the man's chest. The guard kicked the axe out of the man's hands and brought his mace down in a swift blow. With a crunch the attacker's terror-stricken face crumpled in a mess of blood.

Ellie barely registered this before she pressed on into the estate yard, her own halfsword now in hand. The upper floors of the estate were burning, flames shooting out of the roof into the sky. Smoke was everywhere, stinging her eyes and making her cries for Gareth more strained. From the front of the estate came more sounds of armed struggle, more shouting. As Ellie rounded the house the black of the smoke crackled with light as in a summer storm. Streaks of white light began to shoot out towards the front gate.

"That's Anya," Alun said as he came up behind Ellie, and then they heard the mage.

"Come on, you pussies! You sons of motherless whores!" Anya stood at the front step of the house, arcing bolts at one and then another of the men trying to pry their way through the broken metal gate. "That's right! You come on!" There was a lull in the fighting as sheer terror of the rain of lightning caused the attackers to fall back.

Ellie stumbled closer. "Anya! Where is Gareth?"

The mage turned to look, then pointed toward the stables. "Pony," she called back. With the word still on her lips, Anya's body jerked back and she cried out in pain. An arrow protruded from the mage's shoulder.

"Get her!" Ellie shouted to Alun. "I'm going to find Gareth."

Keeping low as more arrows whistled overhead, Ellie staggered into the stable to find more fire, the shouts of stable boys and the terrified screams of the horses. "Where is Gareth? Where is my son?" Before anyone could answer her, she heard him.

"Midnight, you have to go, you have to go," he was wailing, halter in hand. The terrified pony was pacing back and forth, not allowing Gareth to come near.

"Gareth!" Ellie called, sheathing her sword and kneeling to hug him. "Thank Andraste. Are you hurt?"

The boy shook his head. "Midnight won't leave," he cried. "He's scared."

"Leave him. Leave the stall door open and he'll go on his own. Come on, Gareth, we have to get out of here." She pulled him with her, cutting off further protest, and finally he followed, running with her to the back door. Ellie went cautiously then, trying to remain unseen. There were no attackers near the stable, but more shouts from the gates. They would not be able to get out that way. There was an empty barrel at the stable door. Ellie rolled it to the the estate's stone wall, climbed up and lifted Gareth up after her, then boosted him over to the other side. She followed herself, dropping down into the grass. There she crouched, listening.

"Is Anya okay?" Gareth whispered.

"Alun is helping her." Ellie's expression was grim. The mage had made herself a potent target for whoever those archers were. Panicked questions rushed around in Ellie's mind, but she pushed them all away. There was only one thing that mattered. Looking down at Gareth's soot-blackened face, she said, "We're going to make a run for it. Do you remember the boat? Run and don't look back. I'll be right behind you, but don't stop, not for anything."

"Anya..." he began.

"Anya knows the way. She and Alun will find us. Are you ready?" Gareth nodded. Smiling, Ellie took another quick look around, then, satisfied that they could make it to the tree line unseen. "Go," she urged Gareth. He went without hesitation, dashing for the trees. Casting nervous glances behind her, Ellie followed.

They made it to the trees, and to the seaward way, but after some minutes Ellie heard running footsteps behind them and pulled Gareth into the scrub at the side of the path. Her heart was pounding and she could feel Gareth's racing in his chest like that of a frightened bird. The footsteps halted. Ellie relaxed when she heard the voices, a man and a woman's, arguing.

"I need a minute, damn your eyes," Anya was grumbling. The mage doubled over, retching. The broken-off arrow was still lodged in her shoulder. Alun stood over her, cloak blackened with fire, sword drawn. Red burn splotches festered on his shaven head.

He whirled as Ellie and Gareth emerged from the trees, and heaved a sigh. "M'lady. Maker praised. I went to the stable but you were nowhere to be found."

"Are you alright?" Ellie bent to lay a hand on Anya's good shoulder, but the mage waved her off.

"We escaped through the house," Alun explained. "It's a loss, but the cellar was clear."

Ellie nodded and looked around nervously. "We have to move. The boat is nearby."

"Aye," Anya gasped, straightening. "We..." She cut off abruptly at the sound of men's voices nearby. Someone was shouting to another to search the trees.

"Run." Ellie gave the command, but no one needed to hear it. They ran. "Here!" she called when they reached the right spot for the cove. At the cliff escarpment Ellie paused, letting the others go first. When she emerged into their little cove, Anya was kneeling in the sand, braced against a rock. The mage's breathing was labored. Black streaks of blood covered the front of her homespun dress and she was very pale. Ellie knelt beside her.

"I just need a moment, m'lady. Just need to recover my strength a little. Then I can spell myself." Anya smiled weakly. "Don't fuss, m'lady. I'm just glad you're alright, you and the little master."

Ellie stood, pacing angrily. "Who did this?"

"I think you know," Alun answered from where he leaned against the cliff face. "Those are armed men, and organized. No rabble."

"Howe?" At Alun's nod, Ellie cursed softly.

Anya spoke up. "When they pushed in the gate, the men were yelling at each other to get the Teyrna. They said to take you alive." The mage glanced at Gareth, and though she said nothing more, Ellie guessed that they had not only been shouting about her.

"What do you want to do, ladyship?" Alun asked.

Ellie stopped, bracing hands on hips, and tried to order her thoughts. When she had pictured using this route of escape, it had always been with the intent to take the boat to Denerim. Yet if Howe had attacked here, that meant that he had likely already broken with Loghain, or intended to. Howe occupied the Denerim arling now, his men as numerous in the city as Loghain's. Her husband could not protect them any longer. That meant that nowhere in Ferelden was safe. Fergus' warning echoed in Ellie's mind. Safety had always been an illusion, and Ellie cursed herself the fool for believing in it at all.

There was only one thing to do. Even as clarity came to her, she fought it. There had to be some other way, and yet there wasn't. Loghain had always told her that in battle you planned for every eventuality, but in the end, if there was only one thing you could do, you had to commit to it completely. No reservations, no hesitation. Waver even a little and you would die.

Ellie heard her own voice as from a distance. "Take Gareth," she said quietly. "Take him and get him out of Ferelden." The silence that followed, filled only by the lap of the waves, was broken by the boy himself. He stood at Ellie's side, grasping her hand.

"Mamma? Where are we going?"

Kneeling down, she grasped her son's arms and met his eyes. "You're going to go with Anya and Alun in the boat, pet. You need to be brave now."

Alun stepped closer. "M'lady, I'm sorry, but I'm not leaving here without you."

"You have to and you will," Ellie retorted angrily. Her tone then softened, reasoning with the guardsman. "You will not make it without putting in at port somewhere in Ferelden, and Howe will be looking for us everywhere. Denerim is not safe. Nowhere is. I don't even know where Loghain is, and Anora can't protect us. Maybe if they have me, they'll stop looking. Let them think Gareth died in the fire. That's what I'll tell them."

"No." Gareth started to cry. "No, you come with us, mamma."

"Gareth..."

"You promised! You said you wouldn't leave! You promised!"

"I promised that I wouldn't let anyone hurt you." Tears sliding down her cheeks, Ellie stood to her feet and looked across to Alun. "Please. I'm begging you. I don't know where to tell you to go, but please get him out of Ferelden."

Anya stepped up behind him. "I know where to go. I have family in Kirkwall. That's where we'll be, m'lady, and may the Maker watch over us all."

Ellie hesitated. It was as good a place as any. She stepped forward, pulled off her gloves, and began removing her rings and handing them over. "Prise the stones and melt the metal down if you need money. I have no other coin, but there is a lockbox in the boat. The key is 8-9-24, the day of my and Loghain's marriage. Best not to show the signet ring to anyone unless you're sure of them," she murmured numbly. Lifting her eyes, Ellie looked from one to the other. Her voice lowered to a whisper. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about us, m'lady," Anya assured her. "I won't let anything happen to the boy."

Ellie turned and knelt before Gareth again. He was whimpering, his lower lip quivering as he tried to fight the tears. "No, mamma. No. I don't want to go. I'm going to stay with you. I'm not afraid."

"It will be alright, Gareth. Your father can ransom me back from the bad men, but it's too dangerous for you to stay here now. I'll be alright." That was a lie, but she had to tell it. Gareth needed something to hope for. Howe wanted her dead and there was obviously no coin, not gold or political, that could win him. If her life could buy her son a chance at safety, however, then she would pay the full sum gladly. "Remember what I told you. You're a Cousland and a Mac Tir. We always do our duty. This is my duty now, and yours is to be strong and to stay alive. Your father and I will find you, no matter where you are."

Gareth's tears fell more furiously. He fell around her neck, clutching at her. "I love you, mamma. Don't forget about me."

"I love you, Gareth, my own heart. My good boy. I could never forget about you. I'm not afraid, either." She kissed his hair and then leaned back, kissing his sooty cheeks and eyes, and finally forced herself to stand and to pull back from him. Gareth turned and buried his face in Alun's knee, not watching as Ellie replaced her gloves and stepped over to the rock tunnel.

She cast one glance back at them, back at her whole life, then turned and slipped through the rock.


	30. Chapter 30

5 Firstfall, 9:30 Dragon Age. Denerim.

The new officer recruit kept leaving his middle exposed, so Loghain hit him, hard. So hard that the young man gasped and buckled, lowering his practice sword so as to leave his head exposed. Loghain hit him again, this time smacking his cheek with the flat of the blunted blade so that a red welt sprang up there, around a small line of blood that began to ooze. The recruit stumbled back, raising his arms protectively.

"You're dead." Loghain's tone was flat, matter of fact. There was no need to shame the man further. He would feel the pain of failure more keenly than the pain of his bruises, but remembering both would either drive him to work harder or to quit. Either way it might save his life.

Turning away, Loghain handed the floor back to the drill officer and went to find a more challenging opponent. Cauthrien always fit the bill if no one else was available, and eventually he found her.

An hour later and with a few bruises of his own, Loghain left the practice area and returned to his study. It was early and the palace was barely stirring. There was a pile of correspondence on his desk but he worked to ignore it, pacing off the latent energy of the sparring as he unlaced his practice armor. Among the other aches was a tightness in his groin. If his wife were nearby, he might ease that one with her. The study had served for more than one such assignation. Loghain let his mind rove to the memories, Ellie against the wall or straddling him in his chair. They had never used the desk, though. A smile touched his lips as he imagined her spread-eagled there, a sheen of perspiration from her own practice on her skin. The image skipped forward, his mind calling up the memory of how her hair smelled and felt, the sensation of burying his face in it while he lodged himself inside her.

Lifting a shaky hand to wipe at the sweat on his brow, he started at a knock on the study door. "What is it?" he bellowed, quickly sitting at the desk to conceal the evidence of his arousal.

A guard, unmoved by the cranky reception, opened the door and stepped inside. "Good morning, Regent. Beg to report that Teyrn Howe has returned from the Bannorn."

"Very well. Call a meeting of my war council in one hour, and inform the Queen. Now get out."

By the time the guard was gone, Loghain was in more practical frame of mind and resisted the urge to renew his fantasy as he set about washing himself. A steward entered with breakfast, and he stood at the desk with tea mug in hand, flipping through letters. In the time it took for a few swallows of the tea, other messengers arrived. It was always so much. There was too much to think about, track down, follow up on, plan for. It was only Loghain's stubbornness about its importance that allowed him time to continue training and practice with his men. The demands of running a country and an army were crushing and though he did not want to admit it, he was feeling the weariness more every day. Sleep came with difficulty. It had been the same during when Maric was absent or in the drink, but there had been no war then, and the years were catching up.

His thoughts returned to Ellie. There had been no letters from her since the few that were waiting when he himself returned to Denerim several weeks before. These had been practical, business-like, though she also wrote of Gareth's pony and of Harel's attentiveness to the little teyrn. There was no mention of her brother Fergus, who was still at large. Among these reports, Loghain had savored the small indications that she was thinking of him. _Keep well, husband. Keep safe. Gareth misses you._ Perhaps she missed him a little, too? This thought was an indulgence no less than lascivious fantasies of her, but like those, entertaining it helped to ease the loneliness of her absence. In the years after Celia's death he learned how to be alone, but it was harder now. He had gotten out of the habit.

At the war council, Howe was already seated across from Anora and her father's officers when he arrived. Loghain skipped the reunion greetings and did not even wait until he was seated to gesture to Howe. "Reports. Oswin first."

Howe was used to this abruptness and followed suit. "Oswin is ours, sire. As you suggested, we ignored Bann Matthus and instead took his frontier outposts one by one until he had no choice but to surrender. The bann remained defiant and I would have executed him, but you said to give him quarter, so we are holding him at his keep."

"You should have brought him to Denerim. I want to question him."

Rendon bristled. "He is secure, sire. We also have many of his prized 'Hunters' in custody. I've questioned them, but they deny knowing anything about a conspiracy against your family." The Hunters of Oswin were famed archer scouts that Bann Matthus maintained as his standing guard.

"Very well, what's done is done," Loghain replied. "And what about that maggot Cormac ap Feil?"

"He has abandoned the Stedburg and taken to the countryside, along with his sons. We have not yet tracked him down, but it's only a matter of time."

Loghain paced as he considered this. "His lands are forfeit, at least. Keep pressing these Hunters. I want to know what those two were planning. If Matthus and Cormac were really going to send men to Gwaren to harass my family, it would have been some of these. Even a lackwit like ap Feil would not trust a delicate mission to farmers."

"As you say, sire. I would not worry about it too much. The banns must all surely see by now that such gestures are futile. We..." Howe was cut off by a commotion in the hallway, shouting and argument. The chamber doors then opened several men pushed their way through.

"What is the meaning of this?" Anora demanded, standing. "This is a royal council."

One of the men removed his hat and bowed. "Begging your pardon, Queen Anora, Teyrn Loghain. We're from Gwaren and bring urgent news."

It was then that Loghain saw a small, disheveled figure standing behind them. "Harel," he said, disbelieving his eyes. A claw of fear raked at his spine at the sight of his Gwaren valet.

The elf was supported by another man, dressed in ragged clothing with a seaman's cloak far too big for him thrown over his shoulders. A dirty bandage covered half his head and one rheumy eye. He tottered forward along with his helper and Loghain stepped over to meet them, but the man who had first spoken did not wait. "Your grace, my name is Ramsay, of the Gwaren Regulars. Captain Wedder sent me to report. Four days ago there was a riot in Gwaren. Armed men stormed the gaol of the seneschal, the main garrison above the village, and your grace's private estate. The situation is under control but there were losses. The captain begs you send reinforcements."

There were gasps in the room at the news, and a flurry of conversation. Loghain had a hand on Harel's arm and looked at the old elf's face. Out of his one good eye, tears were streaming. Turning back to the soldier, Loghain asked the question that lay behind his dread. "And what of my family? Where is the teyrna?"

The flutter of conversation in the room fell silent. Ramsay wore a grave frown. "We can't be sure. There was a fire, your grace. The bodies in the estate are all burned to ash. A woman was seen fighting some of the attackers in the village near the estate. Witnesses swear that it was the teyrna. She was shouting, and her skill with the blade- not many women have that, so it's likely..." The guardsman trailed off, waiting.

"You haven't found a body."

"No, ser. There was so much confusion, the witnesses didn't see what became of her."

Loghain thought about this, then pushed the claw at his back even deeper by asking the question. "This woman, Elissa, what was she shouting? What did she say?"

Ramsay's jaw worked and he paused before replying. "She was shouting 'you killed my son.'"

Another gasp ran through the room. Behind him, Loghain heard Anora whisper, "Gareth. Maker's mercy, they killed Gareth."

Loghain's knees weakened under him but he fought the surge of panic by sheer refusal. It was a mistake. The eyes of the guardsman told differently, however, and so did Harel's. It was true, and hadn't he always known that it would end this way? It had been too good. Unaccountably his thoughts turned to the witch of Korcari. _Keep him close and he will betray you, each time worse than the last._ Maric was gone, but perhaps the words meant that anyone close to him would suffer.

"Go on," he said in a hoarse whisper. His hand gripped the elf's arm as though it was Harel who was holding Loghain up and not the other way around.

The soldier shook his head somberly. "There was so much confusion. They hit us all over the village. We think they retreated into the Brecilian Forest and we gave chase, but it's a big place and our men too few. We need reinforcements, your grace."

For a long time no one spoke. Loghain stood unmoving. He knew that he needed to think, to make plans and give orders, but his mind and body were frozen. Eventually it was Rendon Howe who spoke. "Can you tell us anything about these attackers, guardsman? Did they bear any sigil?"

"No, ser, nothing like that. They were in poor kit mostly, rough leather armor or none at all. There were archers and axemen, a few swords."

"Archers and axemen," Howe repeated. Loghain turned, their eyes meeting, and even through the blackness there was some recognition. "What does that sound like to you, sire?"

"Bannorn," Loghain supplied.

Rendon nodded. "They did it. They really did it." After a pause he went on, "I can send some men to the Brecilian Forest. You should stay here in case a ransom demand comes in. If she's alive we'll find her, sire, do not doubt it."

Despite his numbness, Loghain forced his thoughts to order, to plan. He shook his head. "No. I need you here."

Another man spoke up. "Dragon's Peak may be able to help, your grace. Bann Sighard's son is also missing. The rebels may be kidnapping family members to get to your allies. We are pressed, but I can go ask the bann to spare some of his personal guard."

After a moment's pause, Loghain gestured in helpless consent. He needed to go himself, but at that moment he could not even draw a breath. His eyes fell on Harel again. "Where is Gareth, Harel? What happened to him?"

The elf clutched at Loghain's arm, but only wheezing sounds came from his throat. Ramsay spoke up again. "I haven't gotten a word out of him except your name, Teyrn Loghain. We found him in the springhouse of your estate and I think his lungs must have gotten seared by smoke. Captain Wedder knew him so we brought him on our ship."

He felt Anora's hand at his elbow. "Our surgeon should see this man, Father. I'll take care of it." Loghain nodded, avoiding her eyes. The council seemed to realize that the meeting was over, standing from their places. They were forming quiet huddles of discussion as Loghain pushed past them and into the hallway.

He stumbled into his study and made it only as far as the sitting area before he fell to one knee, stomach lurching. There was noise in the hallway and then in the outer rooms, hushed but gathering. It would not be long before they intruded, asking questions, seeking orders. The only thought Loghain could form was to wonder how his son's life had ended, if they had slit his throat or if a Bannorn axe had crushed his skull before the fire took him. He must have been so afraid. Out of the corner of his eye, Loghain saw Ellie's portrait looking down at him. He had been entertaining juvenile fantasies of her at the same time she was being held by their enemies or burned to ash somewhere, having spent her last minutes grieving their son. His stomach lurched again and Loghain coughed, spitting the tea that had been his only breakfast. At the same time he forced himself to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. He stumbled to the washroom and hung over a basin. Nevertheless the retching was done.

The morning passed in a delirium. Loghain had thought that the press of questions and messages would be the worst, but when these dried up later in the day, it turned out that the quiet was the real torment. He was sitting with elbows on his desk, hands covering his mouth and staring into the space in front of him when Anora came in. She came to his side and put an arm around his shoulders, then leaned down and stiffly hugged him.

Neither of them were good at that sort of thing. After the brief attempt, Anora came around and took a seat across from the desk, folding her hands in her lap. "I spoke with this Ramsay further. He said some of the refugees joined in the attack. They were angry about some of their who were set to hang for murder. Elissa did report that the mood in Gwaren was tense, didn't she?"

"Yes." Loghain replied dully. "There was trouble there. I didn't know it was... I didn't know..." His voice trailed off.

The queen's eyes dropped to her lap and she studied her hands. After a long silence she went on, "I know you want to go look for her, Father, but I beg you to wait. What happened in Gwaren could happen here in Denerim, too."

"What are you talking about?"

"The tax levy. We had to raise it sharply, but even so there does not seem to be enough. I don't understand it and I've asked Iain to re-check his figures, but we may need to levy again. If we do, there will be trouble. It will be a hard winter as it is. With the Bannorn in turmoil, this year's harvest was thin. We are also seeing Blight sickness again. So far it's only cropped up in the alienage, but I'm concerned that it's going to spread to the rest of the city."

"Howe had the alienage locked down."

"Yes, but how long can that go on? The elves are starving. If we keep the alienage sealed off, we'll have to provide food and medicine out of the royal treasury. We can't afford that, but if we open the alienage so that the elves can return to work and trade for themselves, the sickness will spread."

"What do you want from me?" he asked bleakly. So tired. He could sleep for a week, but Loghain knew that there would be no sleep for him at all.

"Just wait. Don't rush off to look for Elissa. If we get a ransom demand, we'll know more about where to find her anyway."

"There won't be a ransom demand." Anora stared, and Loghain went on, punishing himself with the certainty of it. "They killed Gareth. There is nothing they want from me. This was about revenge, and if Ellie is not on a pyre, it's because they want to send me her head."

"Father," Anora gasped. "I don't... You can't know that. We cannot give up hope. Call back some of our troops from the border to look for her. The Orlesians have made no sign they intend to cross."

Loghain brushed a hand over his eyes. The thought that there had never been a real threat at the western border at all was not one he could yet entertain, but others were. The Bannorn had spread dissent, and people were starting to speak differently about Ostagar, to pass the whispers that the regent had deliberately left the king to die so that he might seize the throne himself. To those who did not know how little he had ever craved a throne, it was a reasonable assumption. If they wanted to believe it was true, he would ever be able to refute it.

The weight of it all pressed in on him. It was like being crushed beneath stones, one pebble at a time, one decision after another, until together they were squeezing the life out of him. He had thought himself strong enough to bear anything, but the knowledge that his son was no longer in the world had knocked the last breath out of him. Gareth, so trusting and sure that his father could do anything. The little boy they had named after Loghain's own father. He had failed all of them, again. An image of his mother's lifeless body flashed in his mind, wearing Ellie's face. Loghain tried to fight back the sob that surged in his throat, but the pain gripped him so powerfully that his few remaining defenses could not bear up. Pressing the hand into his eyes, he felt the tears slide through his fingers as his shoulders shook. Some time later Anora laid a hand on his shoulder and he covered it with his own, then she was gone and he was alone again.

Rendon Howe found him the next morning, slumped over the desk, having finally succumbed to sleep there. Howe waited while he went to the washroom and cleaned himself up. For a time Loghain hung over the basin, sure he was going to vomit again. There was nothing to vomit and the sensation passed. Toweling his face, he returned to the study.

Howe was demure, respectful. "Sire, you said you needed me here but I did send some of my most trusted men back to Oswin. We will learn the truth of Matthus and his Hunters if I have to pry it from them bodily. I have also sent messengers to our other allies in the Bannorn, seeking information on Elissa's whereabouts."

"Did you do this? Did you kill them?" Loghain asked the question matter-of-factly, so much so that he himself was surprised.

Rendon gaped. "Me? Do you mean to suggest...?" He hesitated, then laughed. "I should be flattered, I suppose. I've spent the past several weeks subduing our enemies in the Bannorn and making haste back to Denerim. That you think in the meantime I had time to organize an attack on Gwaren is quite a credit."

"Who else wants my wife dead more than you?"

Howe's face changed several colors, white to red to purple. His voice was taut. "I realize you are grieving, sire, and your faculties must have abandoned you. I have worked tirelessly for you, put all my men at your disposal, risked my life next to you at Iachus Valley. I am still hoping you can convince the queen to accept my proposal to take my son Nathaniel as consort. Why would I do anything to jeopardize that arrangement?"

Loghain said nothing in reply, weighing. The reassurance was convincing. He shrank gladly back from the doubt that still lingered. Tossing his towel aside, he went on as though they had merely been discussing the price of wheat and not murder and betrayal. "Did Anora tell you about the Blight sickness in the alienage?"

Rendon expelled a breath, obviously relieved for the subject change. After a pause he shook his head, his tone disgusted. "The alienage. We would all be better off if you let me raze the whole place to the ground."

"You've just about done that, from what I hear."

"Yes, well, I would like to see you do any better." He paused, then went on in milder tone. "I do have something to propose to you that may solve several of our problems at once. You are not going to like it, but I beg you to keep an open mind."

"I'm listening." Loghain gestured for a steward waiting at the door to come in. The man brought breakfast and a basin of hot water. Ignoring the breakfast, Loghain instead prepared to shave himself.

Howe folded his hands placidly, waiting until the steward was gone before he continued. "Through the trade guilds in Amaranthine, I have had some dealings with Tevinter. The Imperium may be our old enemies and are not as powerful as they once were, but like the painted lords, some of their 'magisters' have more money than they know what to do with. They will pay top coin for certain commodities."

Loghain began spreading unguent on his face. "What commodities?"

"Elves."

"Are you mad?"

"I knew you would disapprove," Howe replied, his lip curling in a smile. "Think about this practically, however. Among their less savory talents, these magisters have healing magic. They will use it for us, but not out of Andrastian charity. If we agree to their terms, we can have our sick healed, clear the alienage of troublemakers, and gain an incredible windfall for the war treasury all at once."

"Slavery is illegal. How am I supposed to enforce the law on the one hand while breaking it myself?"

"You will not be changing the law. These are extraordinary circumstances, and you do have the authority. You are Regent and none can gainsay you." Loghain shook his head and was silent while he scraped a razor over his chin. When there was no reply, Rendon continued, reasoning. "Let us not be naive, my lord. This already happens under our noses. Try as I might, I have never been able to eradicate it out of Amaranthine. There is too much coin to be had and too many raider ships compared to our few. Better that the Tevinters pick off alienage miscreants than turn to our refugee ships going to the Free Marches, while pirates take the profit."

Loghain barely heard the man's words. He had numbed his thoughts so that he was aware of little else but the draw of the razor. If he relaxed his hold even a little, he would have to think of Gareth. His son was dead. Ellie was gone. Little Gareth, dead._ Dead. _The razor slipped and a bright line of blood appeared on his cheek. Howe stopped mid-sentence and regarded him carefully. Loghain stared at the blood, then shifted his gaze. "I will consider it."

Sighing, Rendon turned. "Do not consider it too long, sire. The elves are already dying, more every day."

Alone again, Loghain turned back to the mirror. When he lifted the razor, he found that his hand was shaking too hard to continue. It was all falling apart. He was a strategist, but for the first time in a long time, he had no plan on how to make it all right again. He had been doing everything for Ellie and Gareth, and for Anora. Anora still needed him, but he did not know how to help her.

That evening Loghain went to see Harel. A fever had set in and the old elf was abed, drifting in and out of consciousness. He showed recognition at the teyrn's voice, but spoke no words. The nurse built up the fire and left them. Loghain sat talking, recalling their old night missions during the war, laughing quietly at his own stories. When Harel's breathing eased with sleep, Loghain fell silent and sat back, watching. In the night he heard the elf take a few labored, rattling gasps, and then breathe no more. On the following day Loghain had a pyre prepared in the courtyard and called the Revered Mother to speak the requiem chant.

Two days later he was at the royal guard station when Howe entered. The look on the man's face set the fear in Loghain's spine again. "What is it?"

"A messenger just came, sire. He said he took a package from a man on the West Road who wouldn't give his name." Howe said no more, but took a pouch from under his arm and tossed it on the table in front of him.

Loghain's eyes fell on it, held a long moment. With sick dread, he leaned forward and slowly unrolled it. Small, perhaps a finger with her signet ring on it, he thought, trying to prepare himself for the worst. As the pouch was fully unrolled, he released the held breath. The dread receded, only to make way for a building, icy rage.

Howe was watching him. "They want you to step down from the regency and present Queen Anora to a Landsmeet so that her claim to the throne can be confirmed. In addition they demand the release of Bann Matthus and all his men, and a promise of no further incursions into the Bannorn. The message said you have a week to call the Landsmeet."

Loghain's eyes did not lift, and there was a long silence. Only his cheek moved, before that, too, firmed once more. At last he asked, "You still have the Hunters in custody?"

"We do, sire."

"Hang them." Loghain raised his eyes to meet Howe's. His tone was quiet and steady. It was a tactic that had worked before in desperate cases. The Orlesians had cursed him, weeping as they betrayed their lords, but it had worked. "Hang them one by one in sight of their fellows, Bann Matthus last of all."

The room around them had fallen silent, the royal guard staring. "Ser?" one of them asked tentatively. Loghain ignored him.

A smile touched Howe's lips. "I am to hang them all? That is your verdict?"

"After the first man, tell them the hangings will stop as soon as one of them is forthcoming with the whereabouts of my wife. If she is found, alive and unharmed, quarter will be given to the rest so long as they swear allegiance to Anora and relinquish their arms. Send word to the rest of the Bannorn that I am paying a ransom for Elissa's safe return that is higher than any lice-eaten bann could ever pay. If she's dead, the ransom goes to the man who can bring me Cormac ap Feil's head."

"Very good, sire. It shall be as you command."

Howe was nearly out the door when Loghain called him back. "Send a message to those Tevinters you spoke to me about. I will draw up the papers. We are going to need more troops."

Rendon smiled again, looking flushed as a maiden. "Immediately, sire." He then fled as though afraid the regent would change his mind.

When Howe was gone, Loghain sank into a chair. He felt Cauthrien beside him. "What is it, my lord?" she asked, leaning in to turn the piece of fabric over. "A glove?"

"Ellie's glove."

"Oh. Yes, I see." The knight stepped back and said no more.

Loghain took the glove and smoothed the leather. It was torn and distorted with dried blood, but the engraving was still partially visible: A wyvern, surrounded by a laurel wreath.


	31. Chapter 31

_I'd like to point out the beautiful commission done for me by Maeves Child. Link is in my profile. As always, Loghain and Dragon Age belong to BioWare. Thank you to SurelyForth for fanfic therapy services rendered! -A._

* * *

Autumn, 12 Dragon Age. Highever.

"Are we gonna fight the Orlesians?"

"There are no Orlesians, dummy. Mum and da drove them out of here ages ago."

"We could pretend there are," Fergus offered.

Even an overconfident ten year-old Elissa could see the potential in that. Keeping low, they crept through the abandoned quarter of Highever's sprawling castle as though there were Orlesians waiting to jump out at them from every dark corner. One after another Elissa shot with her bow and Fergus cut down with his sword. Eventually, overwhelmed by the dastardly usurpers' numbers, the Cousland siblings were forced to flee into the old dovecote tower to make their heroic last stand.

The fact that the dovecote was one of the best places to climb helped ease the indignity of retreat.

Helpfully, the sides of the circular tower were terraced and there were notches in the walls for nests. Ellie climbed up towards the ceiling dome, calling down encouragement to her younger brother to keep him following. As she reached the two criss-cross center beams that braced the sides of the dome, she saw potential for a different sort of challenge. Dropping to hands and knees, she cat-walked slowly out onto the beam, then looked down. The stone floor loomed far below. Ellie giggled, a thrill chasing up her spine.

Slowly she raised to a crouch, preparing to stand. Glancing back, she saw that Fergus had made it to the beam, but stopped there, huffing from the effort. "Don't, Ellie. You're going to fall."

"Don't be a baby. Come on. We'll walk across and climb down the other side." Elissa turned back and positioned her feet, slowly rising, the blood rushing in her ears. On her feet then, arms out for balance, she looked back. "You're such a ninny. Come on!"

His expression dubious, the boy followed her out onto the crossbeam, clutching tightly to it with both arms and legs. He had made it several feet out when there was a sharp _crack_. The old beam shifted, sending Elissa teetering off balance.

"Ellie!" Fergus shouted. The girl managed to catch herself, dropping to her stomach on the beam. There was another crack, this one quieter but still threatening. Fergus was frozen in place. Ellie looked around frantically. Seeing a possibility of escape, she forced herself up to a crouch, braced, then jumped to the nearest terrace in the tower wall, scrabbling to gain a handhold. Loose pebbles skittered down the wall, but Ellie found her footing and remained on the ledge.

She turned behind her just in time to see the rotted center joint of the beams give way. One piece came out of its wall joint and crashed down to the floor below. The portion that Fergus clung to dropped a few feet, free of its center anchor but still connected to its joint in the tower wall. It was not going to stay that way for long. Both children were shouting, but as Ellie saw her brother was about to fall along with the beam, she reached out a hand towards him, holding on with the other to a depression in the wall.

"Jump, Fergus! I'll catch you."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'll fall."

"You're going to fall anyway! Come on! I'll catch you, I promise."

"No!"

"You have to! Don't be afraid. I'll catch you." Elissa stretched her hand out, beckoning. "Hurry! Jump!"

Fergus looked at her, paralyzed with fear. "I can't."

Forcing herself not to look down, Ellie planted her foot and adjusted the grip of one hand firmly on a notch in the wall. Then she leaned out, stretching the other hand toward her brother. "Take my hand, Fergus. You can do it."

"I'll fall," he sobbed.

"No you won't." Their eyes met. Ellie smiled and moved the hand, beckoning. Though her own heart was pounding in her chest, she saw clearly how it would be. She would catch him and they would climb down, and later when they weren't scared any more, they would laugh. That was how it was. She was the eldest, and she was always getting into trouble, sometimes dragging Fergus into it like this. In the end, though, she always made it better. "Come on, Fergus. Jump to me."

Shakily the six year old lifted his hand, reaching out toward hers. "Don't let me fall, Ellie," he begged.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Fergus. It will be alright. I promise."

He jumped.

* * *

2 Firstfall, 9:30 Dragon Age. Brecilian Forest.

Ellie was shaken awake as tree branches scraped at her. She was slung over a man's shoulder, bouncing along narrow forest path. Pain throbbed in her arm. That was an axe gash, she remembered. The blood streaking the man's leathers could very well be her own. More bruises were added by the thud of branches against her back and legs.

The man stopped abruptly and knelt down, dropping his burden with an unceremonious thump. At Ellie's groan of pain, he started. "Good. You're awake. That means you can damn well run on your own."

Others came up behind them on the path. "We've got to get moving," one of them said. "The Gwareners will figure it out soon enough and be after us."

Ellie's minder was forced to agree. Hauling her to her feet, he pushed her ahead. "Don't try anything," he growled. "I'll kill you if you do, and don't care what Dunnet says."

She did her best to stay on her feet and keep up, despite the aches and the sting of smoke still in her lungs from the burning estate. It had seemed a good idea to be taken fighting and to shout loudly that Gareth was dead. If she had just given herself up to the attackers, they would be suspicious. In the end, rage and adrenaline had taken over. Once she had killed first one man and then another, Ellie forgot that she was only supposed to be captured. Gareth was not dead, but they had meant him harm and they were going to pay. When an axe cut to her arm forced her to drop her half-sword, she had charged the man attacking her, clawing at him and locking her teeth on his ear. The last memory she had was of the flesh tearing loose in her mouth. Someone must have struck her from behind, knocking her out.

Ellie's whole body hurt, but the back of her neck and the axe gash on her arm throbbed with particular ferocity. As she stumbled through the forest, her thoughts ran wildly ahead of her steps. Natural instinct made her want to panic, but she forced herself to remember that this was necessary. It was a good thing. The attackers were fleeing, not looking for her son. Going into the forest meant they were drawing further away from Gareth. Ellie ran more steadily then, though still off balance from the bindings on her hands. When she stumbled, her captors pushed and pulled at her, pressing deeper and deeper into the forest.

They were following a trail of rag markers on trees. When they reached the clearing that was obviously their camp, the men rested and one lashed Ellie's hand bindings to a tree. She was not the only one with injuries, and one of the men began a quick field dressing. Eventually he came around to her. He was rough. When he wrapped a rag around her shoulder and pulled it tight on the axe gash, Ellie bit down and her eyes swam. She came to some time later to the sensation of her forehead pressed against the bark of the tree. Others were coming into the camp, coughing from smoke and bleeding from their wounds. Eventually a tall man with a longbow in the clearing. He had the rag markers in his hands, apparently having taken them off the trail as he passed by.

"We're still missing some. What about the others?" one of the men asked.

"Leave them. We have what we came for." With that the big man strode purposefully towards Ellie. She had a moment to think that he had the coldest eyes she had ever seen before his blow fell, and all went black again.

When she woke, it was dark and the men had built a small fire. One of them was kneeling next to her, fumbling at her clothes. Ellie started up and tried to push at the man's hands. Even if she had willed her own capture, she would fight this part of it.

"N-no, no," the man said. This one was young and nervous. "I w-won't hu-hu-hurt you."

From near the fire, another man laughed. "No need to worry about Jo-jo there, m'lady. His is dick probably stutters worse than he does."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience," another man said, prompting laughter from others, followed by an argument.

When the big man again stepped into the clearing, all talk was silenced simply by his presence. In the firelight, Ellie got a better look at him. He still had the longbow over one shoulder, and in the other hand held a brace of rabbits that he threw down in front of one of his men. With a gesture of one hand he ordered the man off to prepare them, then turned towards Ellie and the young one, who was still trying to work out how to loosen her shirt without untying her hands. The leader came over and briskly unloosed her. His shaggy blonde hair were tied back, and he had a medium beard and a bit of mustache. He wore leathers but of finer make than most of the others.

"Finish cleaning her wounds, Jo-jo," he commanded, voice so low that it was almost gentle. "Use the poultice I gave you. I'll not lose our extra reward for a festering wound."

"Y-y-yes, Du-du... Dunnet." The boy turned back, and Ellie did not fight him this time. His fingers were deft, and when he was done, the pain in her shoulder had dulled. It was then that Ellie realized that her hair had been shorn, rough cut, likely by a dagger. Perhaps they meant for her not to be easily recognized should someone pass close to their camp.

The men cooked stew, but Ellie gagged when she tried to eat it. She had bit through her tongue sometime during the fight or after, had swallowed blood, and adrenaline knotted her stomach. The boy Jo-jo brought her a flask of whiskey and she took a few swallows, followed by a drink of water. That stayed down. Afterward someone threw a blanket at her and most of the men settled down to a long, cold night.

Ellie was shivering hard. No matter how hard she tried, she could not sleep. The pain of her injuries plagued her, and so did worry about Gareth. They would be up the coast by now. It was a dangerous time to sail, especially on a small vessel. Alun and Anya would have to put in somewhere and get passage on a larger ship to the Free Marches. Everywhere, Howe would be looking. Her thoughts turned to her captors. Ellie had assumed they were Howe men, but the accent sounded like Bannorn. If Rendon Howe had not sent them after all, if they were sent by banns looking to extort favor from Loghain, she had allowed herself to be captured for nothing.

She heard a footstep. Dunnet stood over her. With barely a glance at her, he tossed her a heavy fur. The covering was filthy, but layered with the blanket it kept out the cold a little. Exhaustion overtook worry, and Ellie slept.

In the morning, Jo-jo changed her dressings, and she was able to eat a little. Then they moved again. It was hard to tell where the sun was through the dense trees, and she could not gauge their direction. By afternoon she was so tired that she could think only of the step ahead. The day after that was worse. Her bruises had turned ugly, and two nights of little sleep in a cold camp had made everything else ache that wasn't already doing so. It was also apparent that they were headed north by west, and not north towards Denerim.

They made a camp and a few were sent out to try to find meat. When Dunnet came near, Ellie got to her feet and asked him, "Are you taking me to Rendon Howe? Does he know you have me?"

The bowman stopped, turned, and took one step towards her. Without preamble, he hit her hard across the mouth. His voice was toneless. "No talking."

Tears sprang into her eyes from the pain, but desperation turned to anger. Lifting her bound hands gingerly to her lip, she turned back towards him, and tried to keep her voice from wavering. "You know who I am? I want to see Rendon Howe, and he'll want to see me. Send for him."

She expected Dunnet to hit her again, but instead the big man had grabbed her hands, pushed them against a tree, and began pressing one of her fingers back at an unnatural angle. An animal whine escaped her throat right before Ellie heard the sickening crack of the bone breaking. She collapsed against the tree. Later Jo-jo came and set it with a hand-stripped branch as splint. The boy had healing skill, Ellie thought dully. She did not talk again.

Dunnet kept them at a hard pace the next day. Occasionally he would call for silence. There did not appear to be anyone pursuing them, but the Brecilian Forest had dangers of its own. Ellie wondered where Fergus was. The last she had known, he was with the Dalish in this very forest. She was glad for her captors' caution. There was still a chance that these were Howe's men, and if they were, she did not want rescue, by Fergus or anyone else. Gareth needed time. If Rendon's gaze was on her, it would be drawn away from her little boy.

That afternoon, Dunnet was behind her when he called one of his halts. After a moment he barked a sharp command for his men to get off the trail. Even as he did so, Ellie heard a crash in the trees behind them. "Down," Dunnet ordered her, and to make sure she complied, he pinned her himself, holding one hand over her mouth. The men fell silent. The sound of approach grew louder. Through the trees came guttural grunts and brays that sounded like no animal Ellie had ever heard. Her heart was pounding. Whatever it was, they were going to pass by close. Soon she smelled them. It was like the smell of a body if it had taken too long to be brought to its pyre. The stench grew until she might have gagged from it, had Dunnet's gloved hand not been clapped over her mouth. Eyes wide, Ellie watched as dark figures moved through the trees only a few paces from where they lay, hacking at tree limbs with crude swords and mallets, uttering liquid grunts. It came to Ellie what the creatures were. These were darkspawn.

When they had passed, Dunnet withdrew his hand but kept Ellie pinned for a long time, waiting. Finally he stood and drew her up. He made silent gestures to his men to move west. On the path they had just been traveling and on the trees nearby, there was a black, festering ooze that looked like decomposed flesh. No one had to be told not to touch it. They cut across the path and went into the trees. It was rough going, but Ellie did not need to be pushed. She wanted to get away as much as any of her captors. She feared that they were lost, but as night closed over what little light reached them through the canopy, they found another trail and Dunnet led them along until they found a space to stop.

The next day they crossed a wide, rut-scarred path that Ellie recognized as the Brecilian Passage. They saw no one on the road, and kept moving west. They were now crossing into the Bannorn. Dunnet kept them off the roads, though Ellie could see that they were passing near and sometimes across the pastures of farmsteads. On their second night in the Bannorn, Dunnet and one other man left the rest at camp and went off to buy food in a nearby village.

Jo-jo changed Ellie's bandages, as always. "A-al-almost healed," he said, giving her a little smile. It was far from true, and Ellie guessed it was meant to be an encouragement. She did not return his smile. This was obviously a farm boy, out of his element, but he still had come to her home and burnt it, seeking to kill her and her son. He still replaced her bonds every night after he had finished with her dressing.

She hadn't spoken a word since Dunnet broke her finger, but he was not in camp. For Gareth's sake she had to risk it. Watching Jo-jo as he finished up, she asked, "Are you with Rendon Howe? Does he know that you have me?" The boy's smile vanished. He shook his head mutely, warning her off, but Ellie pressed him. "He will want to know. If not him, then my husband. You want to get paid, yes? You should tell Dunnet. Tell him to send my glove. See here, it's got my sigil on it. That's the Cousland laurel and Mac Tir wyvern. Tell him." The glove on her injured hand had been cut away and discarded when the hand swelled, but the other remained and the engraving on it was still visible. These had been Loghain's morning gift to her. She tried not to think of that.

Jo-jo glanced at the glove, then shook his head. "D-d-don't talk, lady," he said at a whisper, and moved off.

Lying back on her bedroll, Ellie's mind turned as exhaustion and despair pulled down on her. If she didn't hear from Howe soon, she was going to have to try to get free and go to Denerim herself. The traitor had to believe he had won, that she was taken and her son was dead. Loghain might already be dead if Howe had devised something for him, but Ellie doubted that. Loghain could take care of himself. Gareth was so little, so innocent. Storms, slavers, sickness, these thoughts she kept far at bay. He was beyond the darkspawn, away from Howe's henchmen. Her son might hate her, but he was going to live. _I won't let them hurt you. I'm going to save you. Every blow on me is one directed away from you. Don't be afraid, Gareth. You're going to be alright. I'm going to save you._ In her delirium, Ellie could almost believe it.

When Dunnet and the others returned to camp, she half-opened her eyes and saw the big man huddled with Jo-jo. Both glanced back at her. The following morning, Jo-jo stood guard as usual while Ellie relieved herself in the forest. When they returned to camp, Dunnet strode towards them. He could move remarkably fast for a man of his size. Out of instinct Ellie took a step back and lifted her hands defensively. Saying nothing, the man grabbed her wrists and held them fast while he pried at the archery glove. It had grown stiff with blood and sweat. In the end he had to slice at it with his dagger to get it off, nicking Ellie's wrist in the process. It was another wound for the boy to dress, but as Dunnet walked away with her glove in hand, she hid a relieved smile.

The group kept moving, stopping once at a farmstead where a sour-faced woman was set to watch while Ellie bathed. All her bruises and wounds came prickling to life as Ellie sat back in the small tub, but nothing had ever felt so good. When she was done, the water was foul with dried blood and grime. Ellie sat on a bench with Jo-jo fixing her wounds while the farm wife looked on.

"You done her yet? I see you're fit for it." The woman gestured towards Jo-jo's trousers front.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ellie saw the boy turn scarlet. She was dressed only in borrowed, loose trousers and her breast wraps. He had seen her in less than that, but had never seen her clean. Jo-jo shifted to hide the bulge. His hands trembled on her bandages. "N-n-n-no one touches her. Du-d-dunnet said."

The farmer's wife grunted as though she disapproved. Ellie cast her a baleful glance. Whoever this woman was, she was obviously sympathetic with the captors, but Ellie could not imagine wishing rape on another woman, no matter how she might hate them. It was only sheer hunger that made her accept stew from the woman's hands later that evening.

Dunnet was gone the next morning, and they spent two days at the farmstead, Ellie and most of the men sleeping in the hay loft with the animals. It was a luxury compared to sleeping open on the cold ground.

When the leader returned and they began to move again, always going north by west, Ellie got her first clue that indeed the men were working for Rendon Howe. One of them, impatient enough to risk his boss' ire, asked how long they were going to have to watch over the "little noble whore."

The archer was apparently in high spririts. His normally stone-like expression twitched in a brief smile. "As long as Lord Howl says we watch over her. She's a sweet piece and he won't stay away long. Whole, just like he wanted her."

Ellie had never heard the nickname before, but she had little trouble in imagining who "Lord Howl" was, and was beginning to understand how Rendon had earned it. This had been her father's liegeman, his friend. She had played with Delilah as a child. All along a monster had been living in their midst and no one was the wiser. Howe was emboldened now, and what he was could not remain hidden for long. Not even to Loghain.

After two days' march, they holed up at another farmstead, this one abandoned. There would be no hot baths here, though Ellie was given a basin of tepid water to wash. Though the axe gash had closed and was itchy with healing, her broken finger did not feel right. It shot sharp pains up her arm. She told Jo-jo, but he shrugged and just kept re-wrapping it.

Ellie was given a corner of the abandoned stable to herself. There was dusty straw to sleep on. Several days past, which turned into a week and then another. The men seemed to be waiting for something. Ellie guessed that it must be the arrival of "Lord Howl." She called up an image of the man as he apologized to her for the death of her parents. How it must have thrilled him to see her grief, Ellie realized now. In the agony and tedium of waiting, she turned such thoughts over and over, honing her hatred to a keen edge.

On one morning while the light filtering through gaps in the stable wall was still grey, Ellie was roused awake by shouts. The other men sleeping in the building jumped up as well. "Get the woman!" one of them ordered the other. That one came over to her and hauled her to her feet, pulling her towards the doorway, where he stopped to peek out. Ellie's hands and feet were both bound, and she could only manage a stumbling walk. Both of them turned to look as an arrow thunked against the side of the stable. Soon flame was licking at the gapped boards.

"Void and damnation," the man cursed, pulling Ellie after him through the doorway. He hauled her so hard that she stumbled over her bindings and fell forward on her elbows on the frost-hardened ground outside the stable. "Don't you run, you little bitch. Don't you-" There was a soft _thock,_ and the man's voice cut off abruptly. Ellie turned her head and saw him trying to stare stupidly, cross-eyed, at a small stone that was lodged in his forehead. As the man drifted gracefully to the ground, she whirled back. Across the courtyard she saw a hooded figure in dark wraps striding towards her, leather sling in hand. The figure stopped and a hand drew the hood back. Ellie stared up into a pair of wide-set, cat-like grey eyes. Blonde hair was pulled back from a weather-lined face. A woman's face.

"Now, young Cousland. You had better come with me."

"Who are you?"

"Don't ask questions. No time. Can you run?"

As the woman exchanged her sling for a dagger and bent down to cut Ellie's bonds, Shouts and the sound of fighting came from the other outbuildings. Whatever else happened, she was better off free and able to move on her own. "I can run," she confirmed.

They did. The woman was not slender, but she was as fleet as Ellie had been even when she had not spent two weeks bound and bruised. When they finally stopped, the woman took Ellie's arm. "I know you are injured, Elissa. But we have to get a little farther before we can stop. That big one, he is a tracker. My men will try to keep him busy, but he will come after you."

"Who are you? How do you know my name?"

The woman appeared reluctant, but after a pause answered, "I am Regan ap Feil. My husband, Bann Cormac, is the one that Rendon Howe hired to kidnap you." As Ellie drew back, the woman added quickly, "That is how I knew who you were, and how I was able to find out where they were holding you, but I do not share my husband's... priorities. I came to free you, not to lead you to other bonds. Now, can we get moving again? There is a place nearby we can hide and shelter, but we must get to it. Dunnet is faster than he looks."

"Those are your husband's men? Dunnet, Jo-jo, the rest?"

Regan's expression was solemn. "Most of them are our sworn men, yes. Dunnet and Jo-jo are my sons."

Ellie stared after her. It hadn't occured to her at first, but faint memories of Lady Regan from Landsmeets past came back to her. The woman was telling the truth about who she was, and had killed one of the captors, yet the last thing Ellie needed was to walk from one trap into another. She had to get to Denerim and confront Howe. Nevertheless she had no idea where she was. If she struck out on her own in the Bannorn, she might walk right into Cormac ap Feil or others of Loghain's enemies.

As Ellie was deliberating, Regan turned back and pulled something from the bag slung over her shoulders and held them out towards Ellie. "Dunnet had these in his pack. You'll be wanting them." It was a swordbelt and sword, and the Gwaren toothpick from Ellie's own boot sheath. She took them. When she had secured them again in their places, Ellie followed the other woman into the forest.

Regan led her to a cave hollowed out of a rock outcropping. It had obviously been prepared. There were food and weapons stowed in tarred barrels at its back. Working in half-darkness as easily as if it were daylight, Lady ap Feil took kindling from the stores and struck a fire. "We'll be safe here, I think. This is out of our home territory and Dunnet will not know this land well."

Ellie had been pacing, but finally dropped down onto the damp rock. "You fought your own men to free me? Your own sons?" she asked incredulously. "Why?"

"We don't see eye to eye." She glanced up and caught Ellie's skeptical look. "And I'm hoping you can help me."

"Help you how?"

"You've been in Gwaren, Lady Mac Tir, and after that in the hospitality of my sons, so I think you do not know what has been happening in this part of the country. People are dying, and more will. Loghain can stop it, but he has only made it worse. I am hoping you can do better."

"Loghain is alive?" Regan nodded at that, and hesitantly Ellie asked, "Is there news of my son?"

Lady ap Feil raised her eyes. "We had heard he died in the attack on Gwaren."

"Yes," Ellie agreed quickly, remembering her ruse. "Yes, Gareth is dead."

Regan sighed heavily. "I'm so sorry. I'm truly sorry, my lady Elissa. I should have acted sooner. You might understand, then, why I came to believe my husband was going too far. It's all getting out of hand."

Ellie sat back and, since the bann's wife was still watching her, fought to keep from smiling. Relief flooded her. Her ruse had worked. People believed Gareth dead. It occurred to her suddenly that Loghain would also think that, and may believe her dead, as well. She lifted her head. "Does Loghain know that all this was Howe's doing?"

Regan shook her head. "I should say not." There was a pause. "In the morning, if you are well enough and the way seems clear, we will move again. There is something you should see."

They ate dried fruit and jerky softened in herb broth, and Regan checked her wound dressings. "Well done," she pronounced softly after checking the axe gash, smiling. "My boys know their business." As she turned to looking at the broken finger, Ellie considered telling her that her _boy_ had made this injury before the other sought to heal it, but she kept quiet. Regan's voice was sober. "This did not set properly. We may have to re-break it, I'm afraid. You need rest now. We'll do it when we get settled somewhere else."

"It's my bowstring hand," Ellie answered. She was surprised at how dull her own voice sounded, how matter-of-fact. "My sword hand. Break it again if you must. I'll need it."

Regan glanced at her thoughtfully. "That you will."

Ellie settled down to a fitful sleep. When she woke late into the night, the fire had burned down to embers and Regan was nowhere to be seen. Ellie heard her return towards dawn, but when she finally sat up, the bann was gone again. Stretching, Ellie tested her muscles one by one. Each of them complained fiercely in turn. She washed in a brackish pool at the back of the cave, and as she was attempting to re-light the fire, Lady ap Feil returned.

"No time for that. The paths are clear. Let's go." Regan briskly broke their camp, taking what provisions they could carry. The sun was not yet up when they set out. The day was grey and cold, but Ellie thought it must be near noon when finally Regan held a hand up to call halt. "Wait here," the bann whispered, and slipped forward.

After some minutes she returned, beckoning for Ellie to follow. On a small wooded slope, Regan paused again and took something from her pack, handing it to Ellie. It was a Qunari spyglass. Bryce Cousland had owned one, too, and the wealthier sea captains and hunters used them. Regan pointed through the trees. "Look over on that ridge past the clearning, and tell me what you see. Take care not to be seen yourself. Howe's men are all around these parts."

Ellie moved forward and braced herself between two trees, holding the spyglass in her uninjured hand. She brought it up. Through the branches and across an open field was a line of elms that were probably meant to mark a boundary. They had been turned to another purpose. Ellie counted a dozen bodies hanging from the trees, with several empty ropes where others must have already been cut down. The corpses' faces were grey and purpled, hair hoary from frost, eye sockets gaping where crows had picked. A few birds were at that job still. Her glass paused on one of them, smaller than the others. Though the face was too disfigured to be sure, she guessed the boy must have been no older than fourteen or fifteen.

"Howe did this?" Ellie asked as she heard Regan come up behind.

The other woman shook her head. "Loghain."

Ellie jerked her head around. "You said Howe's men were in the area."

"Howe's men tied the ropes. Teyrn Loghain gave the orders."

"So it _was_ Howe."

"Is there a difference?" Regan regarded her steadily some moments, then turned away. "Come. It's not safe here. Most of those men's families dare not cut their own kin down for burning. Howe is murdering men, women, and children up and down these valleys on less cause than that."

Ellie took a last look through the glass, then turned and followed after Lady ap Feil. They walked west, moving swiftly and keeping to the woods. Ellie recognized the caution and silent movement of Dunnet ap Feil in his mother. A light snow fell, but as darkness overtook them, they made camp under a rock overhang. Regan had downed a pheasant earlier that evening with her sling, and quickly dressed and set it up on a spit.

As Regan sat turning the bird, Ellie spoke up. "You want me to go to Denerim and put an end to Howe. Nothing would please me more. Point me in the right direction and I'll leave first thing in the morning."

"Are you so eager to throw your life away?"

"Loghain has to hear what happened. I can get close to Howe and kill him. My brother is alive, and together we'll take the north back again. If Loghain knew Howe was behind the attack on Gwaren, he would slit Rendon's throat himself."

"And what proof do you have? Do you think he is going to believe my word?" Regan looked up from her work and held Ellie's gaze. "I don't want you to tell Loghain anything. I want you to show him. Show him that he cannot run a country by opening the throats of banns sleeping in their own beds, by hanging men while their families look on. Yes, Elissa. Howe made the families watch as he hung those men one by one. Why do you think they are so afraid of him now?"

Ellie pursed her lips. "Loghain was fighting the banns, but they opposed him. They spoke treason against Queen Anora. What was he supposed to do? I said I'd go to him."

"I don't want you to go to Denerim. I want you to stay here and fight. I can talk to people, but I am no warrior. You are."

"You want me to fight the banns? I don't..."

"Fight Loghain."

There was a silence, then Ellie burst into laughter. "You want me to take up arms against my husband. What, because apparently that sort of thing is sport in the Bannorn?"

Regan ignored the veiled insult and went on, reasoning, "I have been crossing the Bannorn ever since we had to abandon our keep, and I know the minds of these men and women. They will never follow Loghain now. Not against darkspawn and not against Orlesians. Many of them did not trust him to begin with, but he has gone too far. Word of what happened here at Oswin has spread like the wind."

"Those hangings, that was Howe. I'm sure it was just Rendon Howe. That is his sort of cruelty." The image of the teenage boy, thin legs rigid and dangling, came up unbidden.

"I ask you again, Lady Elissa: Is there a difference? Now, after what has gone on here and in the north under Loghain's regency and by his leave, is there any difference?" Regan hesitated, then asked, "Have you ever seen a darkspawn, Elissa?"

Ellie recalled the creatures in the Brecilian Forest, and the corruption they spread as they passed. "I believe so."

"Then you know. I ventured far enough south to see some myself, and to see what was left of a village they ravaged. The land itself is ruined, may forever be ruined. While our people tear themselves apart, that is what is upon us."

"When we have the north again, the Bannorn will have to follow us."

"You can't do that at Loghain's side. Howe could not bring them to their knees, and neither can you." The two women stared at each other, each implacable in her position, then Regan shook her head. "You might get your revenge, Elissa, but it will change nothing at all. Loghain thinks he's all but won here. He's blind to what Howe is and blind to what is going on here, too. People are quiet now, but they're not his. You know better than I do that Loghain Mac Tir is a stubborn man and he'll not back down, especially now that he believes our men killed his son. He'll never understand the danger we're all in unless someone bloodies his nose and makes him see it. Meanwhile the darkspawn threat grows. It's too late for your boy, maybe too late for mine, but think of the other sons and daughters, the other mothers. We have to stop this."

Ellie stood, pacing. "I _will_ stop it. I'll put an end to Howe. My son... my brother is depending on me. Then I'll speak to Loghain, get him to step down from the regency. Won't that satisfy the banns? Talk to them. Tell them they have to follow Queen Anora, or we won't have a Ferelden to fight over any more."

"And who will lead them into battle? The man who gave the order to hang their brothers and sons?" Lady Regan sighed, eyes falling. After a moment she replied, "Alright. We'll try it your way, my lady. I've got no choice. It's likely you'll never reach Rendon Howe at all." The bann glanced over. "You had better let me re-set that finger for you."

Ellie tried not to cry out when Regan broke the half-set finger and then manipulated the bones into correct position. She managed it, but the water ran down her cheeks. Afterward Regan trimmed her hair. She had only a dagger and it was still rough cut, but it was less raggedy than the men had managed. Ap Feil produced a flask of whiskey that between the two women they mostly drained before the fire burned down. Ellie went to her bedroll, attempting to sleep while Regan took the first watch. The next morning at the end of her watch, Ellie at a cold breakfast, then woke Lady ap Feil up to say her farewells.

"I doubt you'll even make it to Denerim before Howe grabs you up again," the blonde woman said ruefully. "You could wait until I find some of my men to give you an escort."

"I've waited too long, you said so yourself. Are you going to be alright? Will Howe be after you now, too?"

Regan's mouth moved to a cold smile. "Let the vile little beast do his worst." Pointing north, she said, "The King's Road is about half a day's walk that way. You can follow it from the trees, but the road is not safe, nor are the inns. We're too close to Highever here and Howe is no doubt far more desperate to find you than you are to find him." She paused. "Remember what you saw here, Lady Elissa. I'll try to stay in this area for a time, should you run into any trouble."

"Thank you for freeing me, Lady ap Feil."

"Call me Regan."

"Regan." Ellie smiled a little. "You never told me, do you know if Jo-jo was hurt in the attack on the camp?" She pointedly did not ask about the elder brother.

"I don't know. My men knew to look out for the boys, but one way or another, I'll find out soon, I expect."

Ellie studied her, amazed that the woman could speak so calmly about attacking her own sons and going against her husband. "I could never do what you did," she said, drawing her borrowed cloak close around her as the winds of Haring picked up, blowing a sharp mist of snow against her face. "I wouldn't do what you're asking of me, even if I thought it was the only way. I could never turn against Loghain."

Regan regarded her a moment, then nodded once. "I understand." As Ellie turned to go, the bann called after her. "Let us hope, Lady Elissa, that your husband proves as loyal to you."


	32. Chapter 32

4 Haring, 9:30 Dragon Age. Northern Bannorn.

Ellie crouched at the stream's edge and pushed at the thin sheet of ice on its surface with her good hand, clutching the injured one against her chest. Bending down, she awkwardly scooped up some water into her mouth and re-filled her skin. As she was about to stand again, her reflection flickered on the remaining ice. Slowly she leaned forward to look. A gaunt face and two bruised-looking eyes stared back at her. The cowl had slipped back and her shorn hair stuck out at rude angles.

Early that morning she had left Regan ap Feil. The sun, wan though it was, stood above her now. It was only midday, but Ellie felt as though she had been walking for days. The sore, haunted face in the water was foreign to her. As she moved to lift her cowl up again, Ellie whirled to look behind her. There was no one there and the only sound was wind playing in dead branches. It was not the first time she had felt she was being followed.

Feeling exposed, Ellie pushed herself up and hurried onward, slipping on the rocks as she crossed the stream, splashing a boot through the ice and turning her ankle. She did not stop. Pain throbbed from her hand, up her arm and into her head. When she told Regan about her plans, she had felt staunch, but now Ellie began to wish she had taken the woman's advice to wait for some sort of escort. Howe's men and Cormac ap Feil would be looking for her. There may even be darkspawn parties about. Enemies ringed her, and with her sword hand useless, she would be like a fox in a snare if they found her.

She kept on another hour, then had to stop for rest and food. Clearing snow from a nest of boulders, Ellie sat on one and leaned back on the larger, and fished out a pack of nuts and salt beef Regan had given her. Thinking ahead, she began to worry where she might shelter for the night. Perhaps there would be a farmhold, a shed or stable she might slip into...

A stick cracked, the sound sharp in the cold air. Ellie froze, hand moving behind her shoulder for her sword.

"No need for that, my good lady," a voice spoke from the woods. It was a man, but no farmer or soldier, nor any sort of Fereldan at all. Ellie only hesitated for a moment before drawing the sword anyway and quickly moving off the boulder, crouching against it for cover. The man laughed. It was a melodic sound, though Ellie could hear a certain grimness in it, too. "If it came to that, you would be dead before your sword ever found a target. My arrow is poisoned, you see." She heard another footstep and, glancing around, saw the drawn bow. Behind it she got barely a glimpse of a lined brown face, full lips curled in a wry smile, blonde hair tied behind pointed ears.

Ellie pulled back behind the boulder once more, speaking over her shoulder. "You're Antivan."

"I am so glad you noticed," the man replied.

"What do you want? I have no coin, nothing for you to steal."

"Lady, you wound me. I am no common bandit."

"Murderer, then? Who is your master? Whoever he is, I'll pay more."

The arrow lowered now, and the voice had a harder edge. "I have no master, and did you not just say you had no coin? No matter. I carry only words this time, not death. I will not harm you."

"Words from whom?" There was no reply at first, and Ellie stole a quick glance to make sure the elf was not trying to flank her. He remained where he was, but had lowered the bow and was carefully replacing the arrow into its quiver.

"Now you find me at a bit of a loss, sweet lady. I do have a message, and I believe it to be for you, but first I must ask you a question."

"Ask then," Ellie urged impatiently. Whoever the elf was, he seemed to have nothing better to banter with her in the middle of a frozen wood.

There came some soft mumbling in Antivan, then the man replied, "My dilemma is this. I am not accustomed to speaking to beautiful women in such fashion, yet my friend insists. I am to give my message to a lady who is... smelly." Ellie's heart leapt into her throat. Standing, she held the sword out and advanced towards him, pinning him with her eyes as well as the point of her blade. The elf took a step back, but smiled broadly. "Ah, that sword brandishing, that might be for rudeness, but your face tells a different story. Lady Smelly, I think?"

Ellie remained wary. This could be a trick. She studied the elf, and after a long moment lowered the blade a little. "Go back to your friend. Tell him that I will hear no messages from a hired dog. I will speak only to the pup."

The elf's smile faded. He gave her a shrewd look. "As you wish, my good lady. South of here there is a ruin of some sort, with a monument looking like a huge cock. Such a thing, it makes me wish I had taken a greater interest in Fereldan history." The smile re-appeared, briefly. "Wait for our friend there."

The strange messenger left then, and Ellie let him go. First Fergus sent her a Dalish woman, and now an Antivan elf? The very oddness of it spoke of its truth. Nevertheless she knew better than to underestimate Howe's capacity for devilish cunning. He might know Fergus' nickname for her. It would no doubt give the man great pleasure to lure in the Cousland siblings using their hope of finding each other.

A half hour of walking led Ellie to the place, and to the standing stone the Antivan had so colorfully described. She marked the spot and then found a place on the slope above it from which to watch.

Night drew in. She made no fire, only ate a little from her pack. Weariness pressed on her, but the cold helped to keep her awake. With a clear moon above the ruin, she first heard them, then saw the three figures step from the woods. A very tall man, a woman, and... Fergus. It was him in truth. Rising, Ellie made her way down the slope. She paused again at the tree's edge, looking this way and that, and finally emerged.

"You're late," she said softly.

Fergus jerked his head around. A grin spread on his face. "You scold like Mother, Smelly. She'd be so proud."

They had closed the distance by then and embraced fiercely, Ellie ignoring the complaint of her injured hand. When she released him, Ellie leaned up to kiss her brother's cheek. She had to stand on her toes to do it. "Fergus. Maker's breath, I never thought I would see you again."

"Nor I you, sister. We were on the way to Redcliffe when we heard what happened in Gwaren. Is it true, Ellie? About Gareth?" She didn't reply, only looked around him to the other two figures. One was a giant of a man with a dusky complexion, the other a young woman, very beautiful, hood drawn up over her dark hair. Fergus followed Ellie's gaze. "They're my friends. This is Morrigan. It was she who found you. And that's Sten of the Beresad, a qunari warrior who's pledged to aid me against the blight."

"I spoke to an elf, an Antivan. I never saw this Morrigan."

The woman laughed at that and said, "You wouldn't have."

"That was Zevran," Fergus explained. "But it was Morrigan who first found you. You were with someone else, a blonde woman. Morrigan followed until you went off on your own, and for a while longer after that, then she came back and got me. I sent Zevran to make sure it was really you."

Ellie turned her gaze to the dark-haired woman. "You were following me all that time?"

"As the Warden says," she replied stiffly. Her accent was strange, a stilted sort of speech. Loghain had said Fergus was traveling with an Orlesian bard, but unless she was very well disguised, this was not her. "I wished to ensure that you were not in danger nor being led to a trap before I returned to him. You are welcome, by the way."

Another odd companion. Fergus obviously trusted these two, but Ellie would not. She turned back to him. "Gareth is gone, Fergus. It was Howe's doing. The banns wielded the axes, but Howe was behind it."

"I suspected," her brother answered, his shoulders sagging. "I can't believe it. Loghain coming after me, that's one thing, but I never thought he'd let Howe go this far. I should have warned you."

Ellie's brow knit. "What do you mean, 'Loghain coming after you'?"

Their eyes held but Fergus remained silent. This face, too, dear and familiar as it was, had altered considerably. There was a trace of beard on his cheeks, and healing wounds and older scars visible on him. He wore a rough suit of chain and looked taller, his shoulders broader than she remembered. "Let's go to our camp," he answered at last. "It's not far and we have food there. You look like you could use it."

Along the way Fergus told her that there was a bounty out for her in the Bannorn. Loghain was offering a great deal of coin for her safe return. "That was how I knew that you were alive and in the Bannorn. We were on our way to Redcliffe to see about getting Eamon's troops, but I had to come look for you. I'm sorry I couldn't find you sooner. They didn't...hurt you, did they?"

Ellie glanced across to him. "I'm fine," she answered quietly. "They were keeping me for Howe."

Fergus' face darkened, his mouth settling into a firm line. He said nothing more.

The campfire was being tended by another young woman, this one red-haired, and by a young warrior in splintmail. The Antivan elf was lounging against a tree and nodded a greeting. Ellie glanced at them, then started back as a large mabari hound leapt out at them from the shadows. The charge was a friendly one, however, the hound soon lathering Fergus' hand with kisses. He barked once happily.

Fergus turned, smiling. "I got him at Ostagar. Helped the kennelmaster tend his wounds and later, after the battle, this boy found me again in all that mess. I hope you don't mind, Ellie. I named him Cutha."

Cutha. The name tapped a well of emotion that rose from Ellie's stomach and stayed in her throat. It was a name from a time before her happiness was shattered, before she knew what fear was. Ellie bent down in front of this new hound, who sniffed at her suspiciously and then settled back on his haunches, satisfied, his tongue lolling out. "You are honored," she told the mabari, who cocked his head a little. "The hound you are named for was a great warrior, and my friend. He gave his life defending my son and me. If you guard my little brother, you deserve the honor."

Fergus' other companions were watching. The red-haired woman proved to be the Orlesian. She spoke sweetly, but Ellie gave short reply. She would have to talk Fergus privately about Loghain's suspicions that the woman was a bard. Fergus introduced the young man as Alistair.

"Alistair?" Ellie asked, studying him. After a moment she smiled. The resemblance was obvious when one knew to look for it. "Then you are..."

"Very pleased to meet you," he answered, cutting her off. "Assuming you're not about to turn us over to Loghain."

Ellie's smile vanished. Fergus stepped in between, taking her arm. "Come eat something, sister. Have I told you lately that you look like shit?"

There was a stew the Orlesian woman had made. Ellie must have looked at it suspiciously, since the Antivan laughed and made a joke about poison. She was not in the mood for laughter. While they ate, Ellie kept her eyes on Fergus. His manner with this little band was easy, and the others deferred to him, calling him "Warden." The mabari sat at his feet, licking stew out of his own bowl. She felt a pinprick of jealousy, though she reminded herself that at least her brother was alive and not alone.

After the food, a wine skin was passed. Ellie drank once, then stood. "Fergus. May we speak privately?" When they were away from the camp, she stopped him. "Now, tell me what you meant about Loghain coming after you."

His face was grave. "I meant just that. He's declared all Grey Wardens to be outlaws, and he sent an assassin to kill us."

"What?" Ellie shook her head. "That's ridiculous."

Fergus didn't answer, only walked back into the camp. Ellie trailed reluctantly and he met her, pushing a scroll into her hand. He held a lamp out for her. She stared at the broken seal, then clumsily unrolled the scroll and read. Loghain's mark and his signature were put to a contract for the Antivan Crows to kill two known Wardens, Alistair of Redcliffe and Fergus Cousland, and any companions who gave resistance. Ellie read it once and then again, and again.

Watching her, Fergus said quietly, "I'm sorry. I should have written to tell you, but I didn't want you to get mixed up in this. He used the Wardens as a scapegoat after Ostagar. This is just cleaning up the leftover mess."

Tears welled in her eyes and in the back of her throat, tasting like acid. "He may have traded you," she said hoarsely, lifting her eyes to meet Fergus' gaze. She handed the scroll back to him. "Traded you to buy my safety. He did want to blame the Wardens for Ostagar, but he was also trying to bargain with Howe for my safety and Gareth's. Selling you out would kill two birds with one stone. The only catch being that Howe had a stone in the other hand for me."

"Loghain has no intention of returning Highever to us, does he?" Fergus' voice was careful, but Ellie could see the anger in his eyes. "He thinks we can't hold it any longer."

Ellie wanted to deny it, but no words came to her. She heard Regan ap Feil's voice in her thoughts. _Is there a difference?_ Intended or not, Loghain had chosen Howe. He had sold her brother out, her own blood, the last of her family. Loghain had given Howe so much power that the traitor was not content to leave her and Gareth alone. Ellie was so weary that it was hard to think clearly. Fergus put his lamp aside and caught her as she began to weave on her feet. She wrapped her arms around him. "I'm sorry, little brother. I'm so sorry. I was supposed to protect you, to protect Gareth, and I've been the greatest fool. I should have killed Howe in Denerim and not listened to Loghain."

"Shut up, Smelly," Fergus said softly against her hair. "You couldn't have known. What you did... I know you married Loghain for my sake, mine and Father's. I didn't figure it out for a while. I couldn't imagine why you did such a thing, thought you were just getting old and wanting babies or something."

Ellie pulled back. "It seems so long ago. A part of me did want it for myself, for the babies and all of that. None of it matters now." She glanced around to check that no one was near, then clasped his hand and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Fergus, tell no one what I am about to tell you, not even your friends. Gareth is alive. I sent him out of Ferelden with Anya and Alun Marwell. They were making for Kirkwall. Anya has family there, it seems. I am telling people he's dead so that Howe will not look for him."

"What?" His eyes lit up and he laughed in relief. "That's wonderful. I mean, poor sprout. He can't have taken that well."

"He didn't." Ellie smiled wryly, but the hurt stung her, as it always did when she remembered the look of accusation in Gareth's eyes. She pushed the thought away and grasped Fergus' hand. "Listen. I'm going to Denerim, and I'm going to kill Howe and make Loghain... " Make him what? She had intended to persuade him to step down from the regency and make peace with the Bannorn, but that was before she knew he had sent assassins after her brother. There would be no way to both preserve Loghain's standing and protect Fergus at the same time. The thought of having to choose between them opened up a pit of despair in her gut, but Ellie moved back from its edge. Loghain acted coldly if there was something that needed to be done. She would have to learn to do the same. Returning her eyes to Fergus, she said, "I'm going to sort this out, somehow. If I die, though, when this is all done, you have to find Gareth."

"Of course I will, but Ellie, it's like I told you in my letter. Howe is not even the real danger here. There's a blight coming. The blight is real."

Ellie thought back to her encounter with the darkspawn. That had been only a small band, a scout party, and yet they were terrifying, spreading disease with every step even apart from their blades. "I know," she answered, nodding. "We have to fight soon or who holds what teyrnir won't matter at all."

"That's what I'm trying to do. The Grey Wardens have treaties. We can call armies from Orzammar and the Dalish, and the Circle of Magi. With our own army, we won't need Howe and Loghain."

"You do need them. They've almost conquered the resistance here in the Bannorn. Eamon is ill. There is no one else to oppose them here, and you can't mount a Fereldan defense when the leader of Ferelden's armies wants you dead."

There was a silence as the two siblings regarded each other. Ellie had wanted to dodge the awful implications of where they stood, but in her own words she had just laid them bare. Regan ap Feil was right, though the woman had her own reasons for opposing Loghain. He had gone too far. There were reasons, Ellie knew, perhaps good ones, but it still called out for an answer. There was no way for her to avoid making an impossible choice. Lifting her hands to her head, Ellie bent double. _Why, Loghain? Why, why._ _Why Fergus?_ Loghain had held her, comforted her, asked her to trust him, and perhaps even then he had known what he was planning to do. _If he contacts you, _he had written to her, _it is most important that you send him to me. _He was counting on Ellie's trust to bring Fergus to his door. It put her husband's decision to ally with Howe and give tacit acceptance to the accusations against her family in a new light, one that she liked not at all. For a brief moment, Ellie wished that Dunnet ap Feil's men had killed her. It would have been easier than this.

Fergus was bending over her, his arm on her shoulders. "It'll be alright, Ellie. I can do this. Don't go to Denerim, not yet. Come with me. When we have our army, we'll go get Rendon. I can't wait to slit his throat, either, but we should do it together. Once that's done, we can try to figure something out about Loghain. With Howe dead, he'll have to support us."

Slowly Ellie straightened and wiped her cheeks with her good hand. She avoided Fergus' eyes. "I need to rest," she replied bleakly. "I can't think."

His companions had put up some tents in the clearing, and when Ellie was shown to one, she collapsed into the furs. The pain in her hand kept sleep at bay for a time, but eventually she succumbed. She woke the next morning to a wet tongue licking her cheek. Blinking, Ellie looked up into a dripping maw. She laughed, sat up, and rubbed her hand across the hound's head, scratching at his ear. It was full light and the rest of the tents had already been struck. Fergus was sitting at the campfire and smiled over at her.

"You should have woken me," Ellie reproached him.

"I figured you needed the sleep."

He was right. Her body complained in multiple places, including a dull throb in her head, but it had been the most rest she had gotten in weeks. Limping a bit on her sore ankle, she went into the woods to relieve herself and then came back to the fire. After breakfast, she pulled Fergus aside again and told him her decision.

Frowning deeply, he said, "I don't agree with this. I think we should stick together. I don't want to lose you again, Ellie. Not after everything that's happened."

"This is my mess, Fergus. I helped to create it and I have to put it right. Go get your armies. I will do what I can to make sure you have backing here. People need to know that there is a Warden army coming, one that isn't Orlesian. It will give them hope. There is one more thing. You said you were on your way to Redcliffe. You know that Eamon is ill, yes?" She hesitated, then lowered her voice. "It may be better for us if he does not recover."

Fergus gaped at her. "You want Eamon to die? Whatever for?"

"I don't want him to die. If he has failed so long, however, best not to rest any hopes on him." Briefly she told Fergus of Eamon's attempts to force the heir of his choosing on the throne, and of her suspicions that he was influencing Cailan against Anora. She paused and asked, "Fergus, has Alistair told you about his upbringing?"

"He's from Redcliffe and was raised in the castle," he answered, puzzled. "Why?"

"So you don't know... anything else? Who his father is?"

"No, he only said that he's a nobleman's bastard. I thought maybe Eamon's or one of his liegemen, but I didn't want to pry."

Ellie fell silent, wavering. If Fergus trusted the man, then he had a right to know the truth. Yet if Alistair was a Grey Warden now, then it might not matter that he was a son of Maric. "Never mind," she said finally. "Just remember what I said about Eamon. You need his armies, but you don't need him."

"You think Bann Teagan could lead them instead?"

She nodded. "He is capable enough, I think. At the Landsmeet he said nothing about Howe, but spoke out against Loghain, so he can't be glad of that alliance. More importantly, I know he is not an ambitious man. Better the man who scowls in your face than the one who smiles but plots in secret. Howe taught us that, if nothing else."

"Alistair won't like this. He's eager to get to Redcliffe and he'll want us to help Eamon if we can."

"I don't think you can." Ellie met Fergus' gaze. She was crossing over a line now, she knew, betraying Loghain's confidence. If she followed through on what she intended, however, this was only the first of the much larger breach to come. She pressed on. "Loghain had agents in Redcliffe Castle. He was trying to prevent Eamon from forcing a decision about a royal heir. This ailment of Eamon's, I do not think it is natural illness. I'm not sure how, but I think Loghain did this."

Fergus was silent a time. When he spoke, his tone was heavy. "Well. This is no friendly dice game, is it?"

"No. It never was," Ellie replied soberly. "You said you have a treaty with Orzammar? Go there instead. Duncan always said they were the best darkspawn fighters. There was some princess that Loghain mentioned, a daughter of the dwarven king. If their king will not help you, approach her for support."

Fergus did not appear convinced, but said, "I was going to stop at Kinloch Hold first anyway. I'll decide what to do after that. Remember that day we were attacked by bandits? Anya shooting fireballs at them? I'm glad she's protecting the little sprout now, but I could use a fighter or two like that."

Ellie smiled sadly, missing Anya. "You could. If your treaty can move the templars, I wish you luck with it. Ask for a healer. Anya's fireballs are impressive, but when I bled after Gareth's birth it was her healing that kept me alive."

They left it there. The others were waiting. The party walked together most of the day, Ellie backtracking the way she had come the day before. It was midafternoon before they saw a line of smoke and came upon Regan ap Feil sitting at her fire. She did not seem surprised to see them.

Ellie made quick introductions, then addressed the bann. "About that request you made of me, to fight Howe's men here in the Bannorn. I am willing, but I have some conditions."

Regan nodded. "Speak them."

Ellie drew a breath and forced herself to go on. "If Loghain himself or if Gwaren men come to the Bannorn, I will treat with them. I'll not fight my own men unless attacked first. I'll not raise arms against my husband. I'm going to fight Howe, not him. I see now that that is what you were doing, too." Ellie could feel Fergus' eyes on her. He had doubts about what she was doing, but none so great as her own. She tamped them down. Fergus' other companions stood off at a distance, huddled against the cold. The mabari was digging in the snow.

Nodding again, Regan gestured at her. "If that is what you need to tell yourself, Lady Elissa, it shall be as you say. Go on."

"I want your support to re-take the north under a Cousland banner. If the darkspawn attack first we will not press it, but now or later, you will do all you can to see that our lands are returned to us. You will speak in the Landsmeet, and your men will fight for us. For my brother. He is the rightful heir of Highever."

The bann was silent a time, then replied, "I can only think that your father's men fight for Rendon Howe out of fear, not loyalty. Like as not, Howe has done to them as he has done for us. Hangings and threats do not a true army make. I will fight for you, Lady Cousland, not just because you help me now, but because I think it the best chance we have against these terrible creatures. Yes. I will do it. But what of my lands? I want the Stedburg back, when all is said and done."

Ellie hesitated. Cormac ap Feil had attacked Gwaren, had threatened her son and held her prisoner. Yet she could not ask Regan to go further than she herself was willing. "If your husband admits to his part in the attack on Gwaren and swears to Howe's involvement, if he pledges fealty to Queen Anora, I will not demand blood rights. I want an end to this, not revenge. At least not on him. Rendon Howe is a different matter."

"On that we agree," Regan affirmed. She turned to look at Fergus, scanning him up and down as though appraising a haunch of beef in a market stall. "What say you to this, young master?"

Fergus and Ellie exchanged glances. His jaw was set firm, and Ellie marveled again at how much her sibling had changed. There was yet some of the boyishness in him that she adored, but it only served as contrast to the weightiness. He was like their father now, though there was something else. She remembered Duncan saying that the taint changed a person. It was not a topic she well understood, but perhaps it was part of what she was seeing.

After a pause, Fergus answered, "My sister speaks for me. I speak only for the Wardens, for now, at least. My duty is to defeat the blight. Believe me when I say that none of this is likely to matter when the archdemon appears with his minions. Remember that." He turned his gaze on Ellie. "Be ready. Gather what armies you can and warn them to be ready, too. I'll send you help if I can."

Regan made no reply at first. Slowly the bann to her feet. Stepping forward, she patted Fergus' arm once and glanced between him and Ellie. "You are a credit to your parents, both of you. Let us hope you have the same mettle they did, and better judgement." After that, Regan turned and walked off towards Fergus' companions.

Ellie looked up at Fergus and gave him a grim smile. "It's decided, then."

"For better or worse."

"I don't think there's a 'better' anymore." The fact that they were about to be apart again cut through her thoughts, and she grabbed at her brother's shoulders, kissed him and embraced him tightly. "Don't do anything stupid, Fergus. Like die."

"Avoiding that seems to be my one talent," he answered, the words muffled in her hair.

They clung to one another a while, then separated. Ellie walked back with him to the waiting companions. Her gaze lingered on each of them one by one, weighing them. Her brother had put his life into their hands, and in turn all of Ferelden might depend on their promises. As motley a band as they appeared, it seemed the most absurd thing of all.

The Antivan elf Zevran sauntered into Ellie's view and smiled at her. "Do not fret, my dear lady. Your brother the Warden shall not be easily defeated by any foe. In this, I speak from experience."

"I know that," Ellie replied, willing it to be true. She watched Alistair hoisting a large pack onto Fergus' shoulders. "I helped to train him, after all."

"Then I am glad that you were not with him when I tried to kill him," the Antivan said cheerfully. "Two such marks in one ambush would surely have been the end of me."

Ellie's hint of smile disappeared. She turned from the elf to her brother, her tone sharp. "Fergus. _This_ is the assassin Loghain sent after you? You took him into your company?"

The younger Cousland glanced over at them and smiled sheepishly. "Oh, did I not mention that? He offered. It was either that or have his throat cut by the other Crows. Zevran's been a very useful ally. You wouldn't believe what sort of poisons you can make from a few simple ingredients." When his sister only stood, silent and agape, Fergus' tone turned defensive. "It's because of Zevran we knew what Loghain intended."

"I met this Loghain," the elf interjected. "Handsome man. A bit tense. Could use a backrub, maybe."

Before his sister could react to this suggestion, Fergus blustered on, "Don't worry about us, Ellie. Alistair and I are both Grey Wardens. We're warriors, not boys just off the farm."

Alistair's expression had been a blank up to this point, his thoughts obviously elsewhere. He started at the mention of his name. "What? Oh, right. Wardens. No problem." The warrior's gloved hand gestured, smoothing the air in front of him.

Regan had come up at Ellie's elbow. Both women regarded the Wardens in dubious silence. Finally Ellie shook her head and stepped forward. It was not for her to say what Fergus should or shouldn't do. He had managed well enough without her help. She leaned up to kiss her brother again, then watched as the small group moved off into the trees, headed west.

When they were gone, Ellie sighed and spoke without looking at her companion. "What happens now?"

The bann's voice was firm. "Now, you rest. Now we plan. I have some ideas, but they will all be more difficult to carry out with your sword hand injured as it is. I do not think that Howe will press further attacks just now. They think they have won, and winter is drawing down on us. The best we can hope for is a few weeks' peace for you to rest and heal."

"You have a safe place we can go?"

"I do, but there is another problem. Loghain has offered a reward to the one who brings you in safely. Even my friends will be tempted by such a great sum of gold. Until it suits us otherwise, I think it best that you take another name, another title. A knight from Redcliffe, perhaps. My husband and sons will know who you are, but no one else in the Bannorn is likely to recognize you. We will simply have to stay out of Cormac's way."

"Fine. So be it." She was a ghost already. With both Howe and Loghain looking for her, it was safer to be a ghost in truth. Hugging herself close, Ellie glanced back in the direction her brother had gone. A yawning emptiness filled her. To her east in Denerim was her husband. To the west, her brother would be calling armies and dodging Loghain's agents. She was in the middle, and nothing was right any longer. There was only a choice of different wrongs. Somewhere her son waited and would have to live with whatever came of their decisions, hers and Fergus' and Loghain's. Even if he survived and there was a Ferelden for him to come back to, Gareth was not likely to thank them for any of it.

She turned to Regan, resigned. "Let's go then."


	33. Chapter 33

_A programming note: I will be traveling at the end of this month and will likely not be able to update again until September. Thanks as always to my fanfic healing mage, SurelyForth, to my faithful readers and precious reviewers, and to BioWare for not writing that cease and desist! -A._

* * *

10 Haring, 9:30 Dragon Age. Amaranthine Sea.

Anya came up to vomit, and that was all that occupied her while she hung over the rail of the ship. As soon as she lifted her head, however, she saw that something was wrong.

The mage had learned to be wary long before she had been given charge of a little boy that a pack of grown fools wanted dead. For one cursed with magic, there was no rest from vigilance even in sleep, where demons hunted rather than templars. There was a ship on the horizon, and the crew were nervous at its approach. The little cog was only a few hours out of Denerim and had passed by several other ships braving the winter seas. They didn't like the look of this one, however.

When it got close enough for her to see the banner on its mast, Anya recognized what worried them, and a pit of dread opened up in her. The other refugees who braved the pitching deck didn't seem to notice anything amiss, but they had not spent years locked in a tower where the only windows were the books in the library, among them books about heraldry. She knew this banner. A few moments Anya stood rooted, then she whirled and hurried down the steps into the hold.

Gareth was lying on his side on his straw pallet, eyes listless. He had looked like that for most of their several weeks hiding out in Denerim. The journey up the coast was hard on all of them. Amaranthine had seemed to risky, and Highever was too far, so they went to Denerim. Then the waiting started, and that was harder. Few ships were crossing the Waking Sea at the height of winter, fewer still who would take refugees. She had not wanted to risk even her apostate friends, so they rented a room in a flophouse. The hardest part was to keep Alun out of sight. He had lived his whole life in the city, but paced their small room like a caged animal. They dared only to go out at night and well shrouded. Finally they found passage on a merchant vessel. Anya had been forced to pay out far more of the mistress' coin than she had expected before even getting to Kirkwall.

For the first few days of their flight, Gareth had sometimes cried and begged for them to go back, asking for his mother and then for his father. It was worse when he stopped asking. Anya feared he was taking sick, but there was no fever, and his appetite was scant but normal. He had simply stopped caring.

There was no time to coddle him then, however. Alun was sitting on his pallet, knees drawn up and his big arms resting on them. He looked up as Anya approached. "Come on, both of you," she hissed at them. "Get our things."

Alun was confused, but he was a soldier and knew how to take an order. He jumped to his feet and reached down to shake Gareth's shoulder. "On your feet, Gil. Hurry." They had had to give the boy a new name, and had settled on Gilean, using Hawke as surname. It was the name of a relative of Anya's from Lothering, not likely to be known outside that village. After weeks of hiding, they had finally gotten used to the changes.

By the time they got back to the deck, the crew had sounded an alarm and were standing tensely at their posts, watching the ship bear down on them as the first mate tried desperately to steer out of the way. The other refugees were looking now, too, and muttering amongst themselves. More came up from below. The approaching ship was a large galley, painted black. Its captain stood at his post, gazing back at them through a spyglass.

"Who are they, Anya?" Alun whispered tensely. "Slavers?"

She nodded once, eyes fixed on the ship. "Now listen to me. We're going to jump."

"How's that?" The guardsman stared at her a moment, then leaned in, a futile attempt to prevent Gareth from hearing. "We'll never make it to land, woman. This water is freezing cold."

"You'd rather go with them?" She jerked her head towards the ship. Anya could feel her face hot, her heart racing like a bird's. "I won't be a slave. Not again."

Alun grimaced at this and gave no reply. His reluctance made Anya pause. She was afraid, as afraid as she'd ever been of the templars, but Alun was right. They had both promised Lady Elissa to keep her little boy alive. Come what may, that was what she would have to do. The deck pitched and they all stumbled. Righting himself, Alun reached down to scoop Gareth up in his arms. Anya clung with one hand to the guardsman's sleeve as they watched and waited.

The galley was a large ship, but had the headwind and appeared lightly laden, so that the cog was still not able to turn out of its way. Anya could see men moving on its deck. The captain still with his glass fixed on them. As the two vessels drew closer, he lowered his spyglass and turned his head, shouting over his shoulder. The galley tacked away. It cut the waters in a wide swath, bouncing them as it passed.

Anya let out her breath. Her eyes followed the ship as it left them behind, heading in towards Denerim. On its banner, she could still see the golden sun of Tevinter fluttering in the winter wind as though shivering from cold.

* * *

14 Guardian, 9:31 Dragon Age. Denerim.

The voices were like the whine of buzzing flies. Loghain sat, face propped on one hand. As his eyes roved around the table of the war room, he had a sudden longing to remove the droning heads in one swipe of his sword. It might take two or three. Anora excepted, naturally. The image of bodies sitting at attention with blood shooting out of empty necks entertained him for a moment. Then the captain who had been speaking last, some grasping little shit from Amaranthine, caught Loghain smiling.

"Do you know something we don't, regent?" he asked. "We have just been telling you that our supply lines to the west have been completely cut off. It's the dead of winter. Riven and his men will have to start raiding the mountain folk, or breaking off to go to Redcliffe, if they are to eat."

"A problem," Loghain agreed, sitting back and lacing his fingers across his chest. "One about which I hear endless complaints. The Bannorn are turning against us once again, that I've heard all about, too. What I never hear are suggestions on how we may turn the tide back in our favor."

There was a cacophony as several spoke up at once.

"We need you to ride out with your men," one of the louder voices insisted. "You and Lord Howe. It was the two of you together who subdued the Bannorn the first time. Only the sight of your banners can make these upstart farmers shake in their squirrel skins."

Loghain exchanged a look with Anora. They had discussed this very thing several times, and at Anora's begging he had remained in Denerim. She was afraid to stay in the city alone with Howe and his men all around. Howe made no more move to ride out, and so Loghain could not. The three of them were frozen into place as firmly as if the ice had filled in around them.

Still there was no sign of Elissa, and no further word from her kidnappers. Naturally he had not been able to give in to their demands to subject Anora to a Landsmeet. His only hope had been to find them and free Ellie by force, or that one of those who held her were persuaded by the ransom amount to turn her over. Neither had happened. As weeks went on, Loghain had been forced to accept that she was dead. The fact had ceased to move him. It was a mental calculation like any other, a subtraction from his life and future. He did not mourn her, or Gareth, any longer. He had made his mind too empty and still, too dark, for grief to take hold there. Behind that open door of grief was a wash of guilt that would overwhelm him. Better to make his mind a deep, silent crypt.

Now all the military gains of the previous summer and autumn were overturning one by one. Grannis Falls had turned, then Iachus Valley. The people of Oswin were too terrorized to openly speak against him, but they were stalling and thwarting in other ways. Meanwhile pockets of resistance were decimating their supply trains and messenger routes. There had been no word from Riven, his commander on the western border, since Yearsend.

"What do we know of these raids?" he asked, cutting off the further chatter at the council table. His tone was dull, bored. "Who is organizing them? Have we taken any prisoners?"

"A few, my lord," Rendon Howe answered. "It appears they are using Dalish elves as scouts and thieves. It is hard to say because so few messengers are getting through, but we certainly lost several shipments of arms and food."

"Elves?" Loghain asked, with a flicker of interest.

"Yes, sire. And attacking mostly at night." Rendon gave an amused little smile. "It appears someone is flattering you by imitation." He referred to the Night Elves, Loghain's raiders who had helped to turn the tide against the Orlesians in the rebellion. It had been Loghain's idea to exploit the night vision and innate quickness of elves. Why the Dalish would involve themselves in a war in the Bannorn, that Loghain could not comprehend. He tried to push this fact through a mental analysis, but his thoughts would not move. The crypt swallowed them before they could come out the other side. It had been several days since he had last slept.

"It appears that Redcliffe may have entered this fray, m'lord," another soldier was saying. "You should have forced the arlessa to demonstrate her loyalty by committing troops."

"Explain," Loghain said impatiently, and added with a note of warning, "Leave out the part where you lecture me on what I ought to have done."

"It's just rumor, but one of the leaders of these band of raiders, they say she is a knight from Redcliffe. They call her the Red Fox, because of the red plume on her helm. Some of our men have gotten a glimpse of her in these raids. If Redcliffe comes out against us in force..."

A brief memory stirred, of seeing another woman in battle with a plumed helmet. Loghain pushed that thought away. "I know of no female knight from Redcliffe." He addressed this to Howe, then turned look at Cauthrien and Anora. All of them shook their heads.

"She may have been elevated recently," Rendon suggested. "In the arlessa's mad attempts to find the remains of Andraste. I wouldn't worry about it, sire. A deserter, most likely. If one of their knights decided she would rather fight a real war than run after Isolde's lunatic notions, who could blame her."

The conversation dragged on then, Loghain's mind drifting away once more. Anora was saying something about asking Isolde to come to Denerim to affirm her fealty. There had been no word from his agents in Redcliffe, neither the maid nor the blood mage, but with the land in chaos this was not a surprise. None of it mattered any longer. He had had Eamon poisoned to protect a son who no longer lived.

Without another word, Loghain rose up from his chair and made for the door, not even bothering to dismiss the others. The droning cut off and Anora called "Father," but Loghain ignored all of them and let the door fall closed behind him with a wooden echo.

Anora found him later standing in half-dark, a whiskey in his hand. He was in front of Ellie's portrait but not looking at it, instead watching the flickering of the one lit lamp. When his daughter stepped to his side, he could not have said what he had done the past hours, or how much time had passed since the council session. He did not remember pouring the whiskey. It must be night, as there was only one guard outside the door and a steward hovering in the study's corner. Anora sent a bevy of servants to watch over him day and night. Loghain did not protest. He barely saw them there.

Anora looked upset. "Father, there is news. The servants just found Iain Tallard in his room, dead. He hanged himself, apparently." She waited to see his reaction, but Loghain made none. Tallard was an old hand in the palace. He had been Maric's treasurer for years. Lately there had been rumor that the shortfalls in the royal treasury were not from low tax revenues, but from theft. Tallard himself had suggested this. Finally Anora went on, "It seems Rendon might have been right about him after all. I just can't believe he would steal from us, after all these years. Perhaps he meant to leave Ferelden." She waited again, then made to leave. "At any rate, I thought you should know."

Loghain gave no acknowledgement that he had heard. He felt his daughter's eyes on him, and then she was gone. Before him stretched another night.

* * *

14 Guardian, 9:31 Dragon Age. Iachus Valley, Central Bannorn.

Ellie stood in the bailey of a half-burned-out keep, turning bow staves in their rack and inspecting them for weak points that would have to be repaired. Behind her, servants and soldiers moved between the keep and outbuildings. Bann Matthus died in the fighting with Loghain months earlier, but his son Maldon now fought with her rebels and had turned his keep over to her. Eyes grim with concentration, Ellie marked the bad bows with chalk. There were quite a few marks when she was done. Their weapons and men had seen a lot of use in the previous month, and so had she. Her right hand still ached at night. She had returned to practice and fighting sooner than Regan ap Feil had wanted her to. It was likely that the hand would always give her trouble.

She lifted her head at the sound of hails. A few riders and around thirty men entered the bailey. Ellie had been expecting them. She crossed over to where Regan was dismounting. "So many? Have you examined all of them? Can we trust them?"

"Hello to you, too, Lady Fox," Regan answered wryly. "Do you ever trust anyone? These are Highever men. Deserters. They heard that someone was going up against Rendon Howe and decided they'd rather be doing that than fighting for him."

"Highever men," Ellie repeated, glancing over to where the raggedy soldiers were being directed off to barracks.

"That's right. Your very own, though they don't know who you are. And I brought you some presents." Regan gestured behind her towards a tall young woman with a bow across her shoulder. That woman in turn herded five boys in their direction. "This is my daughter Roslyn. You've heard about her. And here are your captives. Give the Fox your names, lads."

The young men each rattled off a name and the bann to whom they belonged. They were sons and nephews, one a younger brother, of banns who had pledged to fight against Howe. Ellie started this practice as one of her conditions to helping them fight. The shifting loyalties of the Bannorn were well known to her. She had counted on this quicksand allegiance in order to win back those who had pledged support to Howe and Loghain, in fact. To ensure that cloaks once turned would not turn against her, however, she had required hostages of all her allies.

Ellie looked them over and nodded once, approving. "You are our guests, but all here are expected to work. If you wish to fight, present yourself to the arms master and get your kit. If not, you'll be put to work in the stables or forges. Understood?" The boys shuffled, exchanged looks with one another, but nodded. Ellie could read the doubt on their faces. The Red Fox was not nearly as impressive as they'd heard, and mucking her stables didn't sound very heroic. As Loghain and Maric's generation once had done, this new one was beginning to learn that real war wasn't much like the legends. "Good. Now go get yourself some soup."

The tall girl, Roslyn, lingered back, a wide grin on her face. She resembled her mother closely. Ellie could see how fair Regan must have been in her youth. "My lady, I'm so glad to finally meet you. Is it true that your brother is a Grey Warden? Will he be coming back soon?"

There was blatant hopefulness in the question. Ellie and Regan exchanged an amused glance, then Ellie replied, "I think not. He got word to his Dalish allies and their hunters found us, but I have not heard from him in some time."

Roslyn's face fell. "Bollocks."

"You're surrounded by men, girl," Regan reproved her. "Surely one of them will do to warm your bedroll."

"But, a Grey Warden! They tell stories about the Wardens, Mother..."

"Off with you." Regan turned, dismissing her. Ellie smirked at her and watched as Roslyn loped away. She was slender as a sapling, but her leathers hugged a shapely, rounded bottom. If Fergus had known what he was missing, the disappointment would no doubt have been mutual.

Regan gestured behind her to another young woman and man who were tending to the mounts. Their fair hair marked them out. "Those are my other children, Ethnay and Corwin. I was glad to get back to them before Cormac found where I'd sent them. If only I could find Josath, too, I am sure he would join us."

"You mean Jo-jo?" Ellie asked, her tone wary.

She nodded and sighed heavily. "Still no sign of those two. They made their way back to Cormac, I suppose. Ah well. It is good to see you in one piece, Lady Fox. You have been busy."

"And you. We have a great deal to talk about."

There was no time for that until late that evening, when the rebel camp had mostly settled in for the night. The great hall of the bann's keep served as general gathering place and dining hall during the day. At night the trestle tables were taken down and exchanged for bedrolls. Most slept out in the open, though some put up blankets for partial privacy. As Ellie made her way up the hall, stepping over sleeping forms, she heard a man's groan. Through a hole in a propped blanket she caught a glimpse of Roslyn ap Feil, blonde hair free of its braids and falling away from her face as her neck arched back. It seemed she had found company after all, Grey Warden or not.

Ellie turned quickly away. There was little privacy in a war camp, only the kind that people afforded by courtesy. She finally made here way to the fire pit at the center of the hall, and found Regan there. Smoke was rising up from the fire to an escape hole in the ceiling. The great hall had not burned during Loghain's attack, but embers had partially destroyed its timber roof. The bann's men had thatched it over as best they could, leaving one of the gaps as a mostly ineffectual smoke hole. By the time the spring rains were upon them, they would have to cover it, and even so the roof was certain to leak. For now, the hall served them in a crude fashion. Ellie knew that it was more comfortable than many had it during this hard winter.

Regan was using the last of the firelight to sew something. As Ellie got closer, she saw that it was a black banner. The bann was sewing a red fox sigil on it.

"Aren't you taking this Red Fox thing a little far?" Ellie asked as she pulled up a stool.

"The men need something to rally around. Something to make them forget that they don't much like each other."

Ellie lowered her voice. "I'd rather wear the laurel or the wyvern."

Regan regarded her levelly. "If you do, you will bring down all of Rendon Howe's and Loghain Mac Tir's combined force upon us, each one trampling the banns in a rush to get to you. Is that what you want?" It was a rhetorical question and Ellie let it go. Regan put her sewing aside and reached out for Ellie's injured hand. "Let me see it. Off with that glove now." She worked the fingers and watched as Ellie's mouth tensed from pain.

"It's fine," Ellie said defensively, pulling her hand back and clasping it with the other. "A little stiff, that's all."

Taking up the banner again, Regan pulled a few stitches silently. Finally she said, "Cormac did that to Dunnet when he was a boy. About seven years old, as I recall. It was meant to teach him to obey orders without question."

Ellie stared at her. It was the first time Regan had given any indication she knew that her son had broken the finger. "He did that to his own son?"

Regan nodded, her eyes fixed on her sewing and face impassive. "Dunnet was our firstborn. I let Cormac have him to raise as he pleased. The others were left mostly to a nursemaid, since I had a keep to run and not much help in those early days. Jo-jo was the last and I kept him close. Folks blame his softness on it. Being dandled too long on a mother's knee is a curse, the old gammers say. Maybe they are right."

Ellie found nothing to say to this. At last she asked, "How did you and Cormac ap Feil come to marry?"

"I chose him," Regan answered flatly. "He was handsome and had a castle. I was young and foolish enough to think that such things mattered. Do not mistake me, my lady. In my own way I love the old cur. After all this, if we survive, Cormac and I will come together again, I'm sure. If the Maker allows it, we'll die in our bed, still arguing but holding each other all the same."

Ellie's thoughts turned to Loghain and she bit down the ache that his absence had hollowed out inside her. She did not allow herself to dwell on this empty, hurt place for long, nor too long on Gareth, but thoughts of them were never far. Turning her head, she said, "I don't recall where you came from. Before your marriage, I mean. Were your parents nobility?"

"Of a mean sort. We had an old bann, but too humble to come to the attention of the Couslands." She smiled and went on,"When my brother died and my sister was married to a southern lord, the bann fell to me and was taken into Cormac's holdings. If I have my way, it will return to Roslyn one day and regain its own charter. Otherwise my mother will haunt me from the grave, though I did what she wanted and married a lord."

"My mother wanted the same." Ellie answered, smiling sadly. "She didn't like that I was to inherit Father's title. Thought it would keep me from marrying. Then, when I had given it up and chosen a husband after all, she didn't want that, either. She thought that if I married an older man in a political marriage, it would mean I might not have children."

"A mother's hopes are complicated things," Regan answered. Her smile was shadowed. "I don't fault my mother her ambition. Even as wife of a minor bann, she still was higher than where she started. Her family were mountain folk."

"Is that why some of the mountain men have come down to fight for us? They said you sent them."

Regan nodded. "They are my kin. It's mostly because they want to get Loghain's troops out of their mountains. Otherwise they would never involve themselves in flatlanders' affairs."

"How did your mother come to marry one? A 'flatlander,' I mean."

Lady ap Feil was silent a while, sewing. Then she drew a long breath and answered, "When Mother was a little girl, she came down out of the mountains with her father. He was a trapper and would go into the lowland villages to sell his skins. He got a taste for Fereldan whiskey and began to spend more time in taverns than he did at market. One night when he had lost all his gold at the dice tables but didn't want to quit, he offered his little daughter up as bond. He lost the bet."

Regan's face had gone very still, and her voice lowered, so that it was hard to hear her over the sound of snores and murmuring in the hall. "The winner was blacksmith to a bann and took Mother back to his lord's hold. Eventually the little fair haired girl caught the bann's eye and he took her into his bed. She became his favorite, and after his wife died, he married her. There was rumor my mother had 'witched the bann and helped his first wife along on her journey to the Maker's side. The other women hated her, but Mother had her own keys and never starved. So she always told me, that if you had your own keys and kept your land, you could hold your head up no matter what anyone said about you."

Ellie had leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees while she listened. When Regan finished, Ellie straightened slowly. "I wish I had known her."

The bann looked up, surprised, then dropped her eyes again. After a pause she cleared her throat and said, "It is not a pretty tale. I don't keep ties with my kin in the mountains, but some of them still feel they owe me a certain debt. I'm not above using that if the need is dire." She paused and added, "And when I question the blood that runs in my veins, I consider what sort of man would take such a bet. Then I count myself better off than some."

The women sat together a while longer. Someone passed them a wineskin. Finally Ellie succumbed to her weariness and said goodnight. She had a small bower to herself, a little space under the sloping roof of a side tower. There was not even enough room to stand, but it was quiet and private. When she had run through all her worries about the fighting, she came at last to thinking of Gareth. Uselessly she worried that he might be cold somewhere, and that he was missing months of lessons, unless Anya thought to resume them. The idea that she was helpless either to protect or comfort him pierced her with a pain like no other. Maybe he would find other children to play with and not miss her much. That would not be so bad. She held to that idea, to the picture of Gareth playing somewhere, and to the sound of his laughter.

Her mind turned to Loghain. So little news came out of Denerim. All that anyone knew was that the regent was holding. He had neither sent his troops out from the capital nor withdrawn the army on the western border. Ellie pictured Loghain bent over his Fereldan map, marking losses in the Bannorn that he had counted as victories only months before. That was a different kind of pain. If he knew that these setbacks were partly his wife's doing, he would hate her. She had tried to hate him. The knowledge that he had sent assassins after her brother had certainly helped. And yet when she tried to nurse the bitterness, alongside it came an ache of loneliness for him. She could almost feel him, pressed up against her back, arm lain over her side, his mouth against her ear. Ellie recalled the sounds she had overheard from Roslyn's bed, and stirred, drawing the blanket closer around her. She was too weary even to cry. At last, she slept.

In the morning there was another newcomer to the keep, this one causing a great stir, especially among the men. "We caught her in the picket, m'lady," a guard reported. "Said your brother sent her."

"Thank you," Ellie told the man, waving him off and turning her attention to the young woman before her. She was small and slim, dressed in a fine cloak, her fingers glittering with rings. When she drew back the hood, Ellie saw the tips of elven ears protruding through locks of straight, dark hair. The soldiers loitering in the bailey were gaping openly.

"Lady Elissa," the woman said, smiling. "I bring greetings from your brother the Warden. My name is Neria Surana, lately of the Circle of Magi, though they would not like to claim me now, I think."

"You're a mage?" Ellie asked, brow raised. The fact that the woman knew her real name was suspicious, but that she had come from Kinloch Hold made some sense. That had been Fergus' destination when he left Ellie, and this might be more of his promised help.

"Yes," the woman replied, laughing lightly. "And happier to be out of that Tower than I can say. It took me a long time to find you. I must look a fright."

She was beautiful, in fact, though the mud on her hem and boots did bear witness to the travel. There were thaws in some parts of the country already. "How _did_ you find me?" Ellie asked warily.

"Scrying magic. It's not my specialty, and I only had your brother's blood rather than your own, so..." Neria stopped, frowning. "Oh dear. I know that look. You might as well know it, my lady, if I am to fight for you. I do dabble in a bit of blood magic. And... a few other things. I'm also wanted by the templars, for helping a friend escape. That's why the Warden secreted me out of the Tower, though he was only supposed to take that harpy Wynne. She wasn't happy when she found out about it. No doubt she will make trouble for me after all is said and done. I'm hoping you'll be able to help me with that."

Ellie was having trouble following, but understood the most important part. "So my brother is well?"

Neria brightened. "He is. I am to tell you that he has taken your advice, about Orzammar. I did so want to go with them. I long to see the dwarves' underground city. Deliciously barbaric, I imagine. But, the Warden said his sister needed help fighting, so here I am. Just tell me what to blow up."

Suppressing a smile, Ellie replied, "Scrying magic, you say. I hope my enemies don't think of that."

"Not likely, my lady. The Chantry keeps such things secret. They wouldn't want to be too useful to anyone, now would they? Oh!" The elven woman reached into a cloak pocket and drew forth a silver amulet, holding it out to Ellie. Its surface was graven with runes that glowed with the deep, vital blue of lyrium. "I was also to give you this. It's enchanted for long endurance. The Warden says you are to do as Zavi taught you. He said, 'our day will come.' I suppose you know what that means."

Ellie took the amulet, regarding it silently. She did indeed know. Zavi Agoste had been their Antivan sword trainer. He often said that the first rule of striking at an enemy was to be patient enough to wait for the right time. Each small victory Ellie had won had felt empty, since nothing in Denerim or Highever had changed. Fergus had read her thoughts well. Ellie closed her hand over the amulet and looked up. "Well, Neria Surana, welcome. You had best not call me by my true name. Here I am known as the Fox."

"A secret name?" Neria seemed delighted at the idea. Ellie gestured at one of the men loitering nearby. There were a number of ready volunteers, eager to see to the elven woman's every need.

Regan ap Feil stayed at Iachus Valley two days and then prepared once again to leave. Neither woman stayed in any one place too long, though for the sake of organizing their men, Ellie was more often at their safe houses.

She found Regan outside the stables, securing her saddle bags. "You go south?" Ellie asked, picking up a pack and handing it to the other woman.

"To my sister's, yes. It seems the darkspawn don't like Fereldan winters more than anyone else, but I don't trust that they've really retreated. I'd like to see for myself what they are doing."

"The Highever men you brought me," Ellie began. "I am sending them back."

Regan looked up sharply. "Back? To Highever?"

Ellie nodded, her expression grim. "I told them my true name, and who my brother was. They have promised to go back and spread the word, to raise others in the north to fight for us when the time comes."

The women held each other's eyes a long moment. "You risk much," Regan said finally.

"I know. I must try. The north will not be won with outsiders, with a few Bannorn farmers. If my father's men know there are Couslands alive and fighting, they will turn."

"So you hope." Regan rested a hand on her mount's neck. "If word spreads in the north that you are alive and raising armies, it will get back to Denerim. Howe and Loghain will know. You might undo everything we have done here."

"By that time, I expect my brother to have returned. When he does so, we are going to go together to take back Highever Castle. Then Howe can come and get me, if he dares." Ellie's voice was adamant, though her stomach churned. It was just as Regan said, she knew well. She was risking far more than her own life by revealing herself.

"And if the darkspawn attack?"

"If they attack, we'll deal with it then. You said yourself that our best chance is with a northern army led by Couslands, not by Howe."

"I did say that," Regan allowed reluctantly. "Very well, my lady. Now excuse me. I must get the rest of our supplies."

"There is one more thing." The bann stopped and turned back. "I want you to leave one of your children here. One of the girls, perhaps. Both are better archers than me and I could use them."

"You need archers, you say." Regan's tone was careful, but the look she exchanged with Ellie was a shrewd one. Both of them knew that this was not a question of arms. Every bann who had pledged to fight for the Red Fox had sent a hostage. Only the house of ap Feil had given none. Regan's voice was sober, but she gave a little smile. "Roslyn will be happy to serve. Do let her know if any Grey Wardens happen by. We are at your command, Lady Fox."

As Ellie watched the bann walk off towards the keep, she reached up a hand and touched the amulet at her throat. Zavi Agoste had taught her and Fergus to be patient, to wait for the right time to strike. He had also said that if the swordsman could choose the place of battle, then when that time came, the strike could not fail. Ellie's hand trembled, but not from cold. She hoped that Zavi was right, and that Fergus would forgive her if she was not.


	34. Chapter 34

18 Cloudreach, 9:31 Dragon Age. Elban Cross, Northern Bannorn.

Ellie rode in at dawn, exhausted from night raiding, but allowed herself neither bed nor meat until she had made rounds of all the watchposts. The news was the same. It had been a month since Regan rode out for the south. There was no sign either of the bann or of Fergus. Her brother had meant only a quick journey to Orzammar and back. Ellie worried over Loghain's army that held the passes against Orlesians. Fergus would have had to pass them on his way.

With her brother or alone, Ellie would have to strike at Highever soon. Already they had taken several of the southern garrisons and word was spreading north that the Couslands were alive and claiming their own. Howe's men fought with little spirit. Some openly cheered when Ellie liberated their outposts. Rendon would not long endure this, surely, especially when he heard that it was Elissa herself who was alive and attacking his men. They had taken enough in their raids for her to feed her men and pay them a little, but that too would not hold out.

Ellie had taken an arrow in the thigh, partially piercing her leathers, and for the next several days could not ride out. Instead she limped around the camp and listened to the men's talk. As of yet they were in good spirits. If it came to hard fighting in Highever, that would not last, she knew. With every day Ellie expected Loghain to appear. He stayed away. She did not know how to feel about that.

At last a messenger arrived saying that a party of Grey Wardens was on the North Road and were asking after her. Ellie sent horses out to them and was waiting on the road when they came up. She and Fergus fell on each other, embracing.

"You're late," she said, laughing as she made the familiar complaint.

"Had a bit more trouble with the dwarves than I had hoped, but we sorted it all out." Fergus' smile did not hold long. His hair was longer and he had a little beard now, his mail battered and stained black as though it had been burned. He had seen harder fighting than she.

"What in Andraste's name were you doing down there? Did Loghain's troops hold you up?"

"It's a long story" he sighed. "Suffice to say, we'll get our armies."

"When? I was making ready to march on Highever when you came."

Fergus shook his head. "You can't go to Highever, Ellie. Not yet."

"Brother, it is ripe for our taking. Father's men are turning to us. You would be proud of them."

Fergus shook his head. He was fierce now, Ellie thought, wondering. He looked like their father, only more haggard, as though worn down to nothing but points and edges. There was something else in Fergus' eyes that unsettled her. "The archdemon is gathering his minions. I saw him. He looked right at me, knew me, and yet let us go. He is not afraid. There are enough darkspawn in the Dead Trenches now to overwhelm half the world, not just Ferelden. We have to go to Denerim, warn Loghain and settle this once and for all."

Ellie's stomach turned over. Briefly she wondered which would be worse to face, the archdemon or the husband she had betrayed. There was no doubt that Fergus was sure of what he had seen. Dismayed, Ellie realized that what she had seen in her brother's eyes was fear. Still, doubt held her. She had wanted to go to Denerim with a prize, with the upper hand, and force Loghain to recognize her rights. Fergus would be occupying his rightful teyrnir then, not a Warden outlaw whose life might still be in jeopardy if Loghain persisted in his madness. Fergus and his companions were all drooping from exhaustion and some were wounded, so she let the matter slide.

Two days later, early in the morning, there was a great commotion in the camp. Battered men started pouring in, and a few riders. Among them Ellie saw Ethnay ap Feil, her brother Corwin not far behind, but Regan was nowhere to be seen. Roslyn ap Feil came up from behind running and caught Ethnay as the girl dropped from her lathered horse. When she heard Roslyn's wail of dismay, Ellie knew that Regan was not going to follow.

As Ellie approached them, Ethnay broke off and stepped towards her. "My lady," she gasped, cheeks hot with tears. "Darkspawn attacked us, a great mass of them. Southern has fallen. My mother..." Ethnay shook her head, blonde curls heavy with sweat falling into her eyes.

Ellie moved closer and put an arm around the girl, hugging her tightly. Ethnay sagged in her arms and Ellie let two of the men take her. Fergus stepped to Ellie's side.

"You should let me see them before you let them into the camp," he whispered. Ellie looked at him uncomprehendingly, but Fergus already had a hand on the ap Feil girl's back. He seemed to sniff the air, then moved off to the others, calling orders to keep all the newcomers together in the muddy yard. As he walked among them, Fergus was herding off a few to the side. Corwin ap Feil was among these. When Fergus came back, his face was grim. "Those people are sick. They have the taint."

Ellie gaped at her brother, stupid with shock. "No. You can't be serious. Fergus, their mother is dead."

He kept his voice low, tone bitter. "It's already done, Ellie. I have to get them away from the others or more will die."

"This is the gift the Wardens gave you?"

Fergus gave her a bleak look. "It's a curse. I swear it."

He turned and gestured to Alistair and their Qunari mercenary, who were standing nearby. The two Wardens spoke to the sick. Some of these slumped as they were told, knowing already. Several fought, trying to flee, and Roslyn ap Feil stood between Fergus and her brother, pushing on the Warden's chest and shouting at him. Corwin himself laid a hand on Roslyn's shoulder, drawing her off. He spoke calmly to his sisters, not touching them, then went off with Alistair and the others.

That night Ellie went to look for Roslyn. She found the girl sitting by a fire, staring into the flames. A dagger rested on the bench next to her. As Ellie approached, Roslyn said numbly, intoning, "It is wicked to kill one's own blood. Mother said I wasn't to do it if Papa attacked our camp, because it's a great sin and the Maker would never forgive a kinslayer. That's what I am, now."

Ellie crouched next to her and reached out a hand. As soon as the hand touched her shoulder, Roslyn's eyes erupted in tears. She cried, not loudly but freely and unabashed, now and again keening softly like a child. Men passing by the fire turned to look and then moved away, faces grim. Ellie moved the dagger aside and sat next to the young woman, silent. Dully she thought that she had never been able to mourn her own family with such pure, honest grief. Howe had always been there, lurking, poisoning even that. Loghain had comforted her with one arm while the other reached around to strike at her brother. The darkspawn at least were a mindless enemy, easy to hate. They did not ally with someone you loved. Yet Regan's death and Corwin's were no less meaningless.

Roslyn laid her head on Ellie's shoulder and they sat like that a while. Ellie's thoughts turned to Regan, and a lump sat in her throat. Theirs had been an uneasy alliance from the beginning, but she had come to think of the bann as her friend. There had been few of those in her life. Now Regan was dead, and her son as well. Ellie felt somehow responsible.

The next morning, the ap Feil sisters stood stone-faced, leaning against one another, as their retainers made a pyre for Corwin and others who had died in the night. Afterward Ethnay, leading several squires, approached Ellie. Their hands were full with pieces of a fine set of mail, red steel, light and supple. There was also a black surcoat emblazoned with Ellie's fox sigil. The fox was wearing a wreath of laurel around its neck, delicately stitched in green and gold.

"Mother went to Southern to get this for you," the girl said, her voice thick with unshed tears. "She said the Red Fox is a true warrior and should look like one."

Ellie lifted the cuirass and turned it over. The metal shone dully, deep red and black. Blood colors. Death colors. She looked at Ethnay and nodded once, accepting the gifts wordlessly. Anything she thought to say rang hollow.

Fergus was waiting at the door of her tent. She had already given orders and the camp was in an uproar, the army making ready to move. "Where are we going, Ellie?" he asked.

"Denerim." She was about to push past him into the tent when Fergus caught her shoulder. A roughened hand brushed her cheek. He was looking at her intently, some of the old softness returned. She nodded once, clasped his hand, then moved on to pack up her things.

The majority of her Bannorn men Ellie was sending south to scout and defend their own lands, with a promise that she would return with reinforcements. Roslyn ap Feil insisted on accompanying the Couslands. Ellie was relieved at this. In most of their recent raids, Roslyn had been at her side, and Ellie had come to think of the young woman as her second.

As Ellie and Fergus readied their horses, he told her that he had met Commander Riven from Denerim in the Frostback Mountains, on their way to Orzammar, and had sent him to Redcliffe.

"Loghain's man is taking orders from you now?" Ellie asked, surprised.

"No, and I had trouble to convince him we were on our way to see dwarves and not Orlesians. Still, his men had no food and he'd had no orders or pay from Loghain in some time, so he was going to have to break off anyway. Dropping your name helped."

"Even though I'm the reason he's not been paid?"

Fergus grinned. "I may have forgotten to mention that. He promised to rally Redcliffe's forces and send Bann Teagan to us in Denerim for parley. I expect he'll be waiting for us."

"Is that what you want to do in Denerim, Fergus? You're going there to talk?"

Fergus pulled at his saddle cinch, the smile gone from his face. "We're going after Howe. Don't think you're going to cut his head off before I get there, Smelly, because that prize is mine."

Ellie needed to hear nothing else.

They kept to the road for speed. Dark clouds moved overhead, broken occasionally by sun that turned the clouds golden-green but did not warm them. Rain spattered occasionally. Ellie rode along numbly, thinking of Regan and of Loghain. She was distracted, but someone else called warning. Ellie reined up and saw a rider to their right, cresting a ridge and coming on towards them fast. As the horse reached the bottom of the slope, it slid and spilled its rider. The man scrambled up and started running, waving his arms. Ellie could hear him shouting. She turned her horse into the field and past her guards, then stopped and drew her sword, waiting.

The man's shouts were unintelligible, but in the moment Ellie recognized him, some two dozen other riders broke the crest of the ridge. Their shouts were clearly war whoops. Josath ap Feil stopped running, glanced over his shoulder at the riders, and froze as he realized that he was about to be flattened between two sets of charging horses. Ellie saw it, too. She spurred her mount forward. Reaching down, she gave Jo-jo a hand and he swung behind her on the saddle. Ellie whirled the gelding and rode back to her guards and the Warden party, who were fanning out to meet the attack. Fire crackled out from Neria, scorching some of the riders and causing their terrified mounts to rear, but the others still came on.

For a long minute there was utter confusion as the two groups clashed into each other. Among the shouts, one voice rose higher than the others. "Cousland bitch! Come and face me. Cousland!" One of the riders was trying to flank to get to Ellie. She saw it, but then her mount screamed and reared as an arrow struck his shoulder. Fighting to keep her seat, she was nevertheless pulled off as Jo-jo lost his. They both fell into a heap and clambered up. The gelding bucked away, and one hoof caught Ellie painfully in her shin.

"Papa, no!" From her left, she heard Roslyn's scream. The man who had been calling for her was Cormac ap Feil, then.

He, too, had dismounted and was stalking towards her. Ellie braced to meet him, bringing her shield up and scuttling backwards to get a better footing. Jo-jo stood tensed at her side. The bann wore a shaggy beard and torn cloak, his eyes wild as a berserker. Abruptly he pulled an axe from his belt, stopped and threw. Ellie brought her shield up and sidestepped, but Jo-jo lunged in between. The axe caught him across the neck and shoulder, then bounced harmlessly against Ellie's shield. Roslyn screamed once more, running up to catch Jo-jo as he was falling.

"Look what you've done!" Roslyn shouted. Cormac was still moving, seemingly unaware that his children stood between him and his prey. "Papa, stop! Stop! It's me, Roslyn. Don't you know me? Oh, Andraste." She bent over the boy's body, holding his shoulders.

When the bann reached them, he looked down at Jo-jo and his eyes widened. Ellie was close enough to see that he shook violently. Around them, the fighting died down as Cormac's men realized the two chiefs were going to fight this one themselves. The bann lifted a finger, pointing. "You. You killed my wife. You murdered my son. I found the pyre still smoldering. Did you think you could hide what you've done?"

Roslyn was sobbing. "No, Papa, no. I killed Corwin. It was me."

Neria Surana pushed through the crowd of riders and shouldered Roslyn aside, too, kneeling down in the mud beside the injured man. Fergus moved up behind Cormac, ready to spring on him, but held back. From the other side, Ellie saw Dunnet ap Feil approach, similarly ready to enter the fray. The air was fraught, men cursing each other and calling threats.

"The darkspawn killed your wife and son," Ellie called out to Cormac. "My hands are free of their blood, but yours are stained with my son's. A little boy who had done no harm to you. If you will join us and take your revenge on the darkspawn, yet maybe I will let you live."

"Join you so you could destroy the last of what I have left to me?" Cormac spat with derision. "Loghain Mac Tir is cursed, and so are you. He was nothing and had nothing but still wanted to lord over other men, and brought thousands to their deaths. And so he still does. Yet you stand here speaking of blood guilt, you arrogant cunt."

Roslyn was ignoring her father, but she cried out with relief as her younger brother, now propped in Neria's lap, opened his eyes.

"He will live," the elven woman pronounced, "but not if we stand here in this muddy field. If you will permit me...?" She glanced from Ellie to Cormac ap Feil and back.

Ellie knew that Neria was only being polite. If one of the Couslands had given a sign, Cormac ap Feil would have been standing before them paralyzed and in agony, the blood in his veins boiling. Ellie had seen the mage control men in that way, and it was fearsome. They had agreed that such magic was only for dire need. "Take him away from here," Ellie told her. "Do your best for him, Neria. The boy tried to warn us."

Roslyn stood up and rounded on her father. "You're the one who destroyed us! Mother told you we had to fight the darkspawn, but you wouldn't listen. Ransoms and titles, what good is all that to us now? Stop this, Papa." Her gaze turned to Dunnet. "Brother. Please."

Cormac's eyes were on his daughter's face. He seemed to lose a hand breadth of his height. Men began to melt away, and finally the bann turned, muttering darkly. Ellie let out a held breath and looked around, dazed.

Fergus came up and put an arm around her shoulder, staring off after Cormac ap Feil with a murderous look. "So Regan's husband was the one who attacked Gwaren? And you chastise me for working with assassins?"

"Yes," Ellie replied heavily. "Leave it now, Fergus."

The Wardens and the ap Feils made separate camps on the field, Neria and Fergus' other companion mages crossing between them to attend to the wounded. Neither side trusted the other and sentries kept a firm check on movement. From her bedroll, Ellie saw Fergus walking with the mage Morrigan towards a tent. She thought she saw him reach up to touch the woman's cheek. Afterward Ellie slept, but only fitfully. Whenever she woke, she saw that the Qunari from Fergus' company was standing near her bedroll, rooted like a massive statue.

When Ellie woke, Roslyn ap Feil was gone. As Ellie and Fergus crouched at the fire drinking tea, Roslyn came walking up with her father at her side.

Cormac cast Roslyn a resentful glance before he spoke. "My daughter has some strange notion that I owe you service for a thrown axe that wounded her own brother. Here it is, for her sake. I sent men to Rendon Howe to ask if he still wanted your bony ass badly enough to pay for it." Roslyn elbowed him, but Cormac ignored her and went on. "He does, and I am minded to truss it for him. Be that as it may, my men heard something else in Denerim. Howe has changed almost all the royal guard with men loyal to him. He's got plans for Loghain's other get."

"You mean Anora?" Ellie asked, incredulous. "What sort of plans?"

"A noose. Or something more fine, for lady necks. Yours slip out so easily."

Her skepticism deepened. "Howe wants to kill Anora? Does he dare?"

Cormac gave her a withering look. "Don't strain yourself wondering. He'll do it, if she doesn't give him what he wants." No one said anything, so he explained impatiently, "Her cunny and a crown of his own to wear, what do you think? The man never intended to stop at Highever. One way or another, he wants the throne."

"Sweet holy Maker." Ellie gaped, turning to her brother.

Fergus returned the look and lifted his shoulder in a resigned shrug. "We keep forgetting, sister. Howe is not ambitious. He's stark raving mad."

Loghain and Anora were making that same mistake, Ellie realized. She returned her gaze to the bann, who was eyeing her like an eagle does a rat. "What have you decided? I can't let you go free. You can either come with us to Denerim as an ally or as my prisoner."

"You think you can hold me?"

"I know I can." Her tone was confident, not least because of Neria and the other two mages in their party. She watched tensely while Cormac and Roslyn exchanged glances.

After a moment the bann shook his head in disgust. "I won't lick anyone's boots, but I know when I'm beaten." As he turned he said to Roslyn, "Wherever your mother is, she's got a damn smug look on her face."

They left the wounded behind with guards from both of their parties, and set off at speed towards Denerim. Towards evening they slackened the pace for the sake of the horses, but did not stop.

On the road, one of Cormac's men pulled his horse alongside Ellie's and regarded her with bald skepticism. He wore a ragged beard and clothes to match it. "You're Loghain Mac Tir's uppity little piece, then?"

"I think you mean to ask if I am his lady wife," Ellie answered tersely, her eyes trained ahead.

The man snorted. "Lady, she says." He regarded her a moment longer and concluded, "He ought to beat you more often."

She spurred her horse forward, calling over her shoulder, "I'll be sure to tell him."

* * *

23 Cloudreach, 9:31 Dragon Age. Denerim.

"It's her. She has betrayed you." The note of triumph in Rendon Howe's voice was unmistakeable.

Loghain stared at the map of the coastlands, set up with markers to indicate the garrisons that had fallen to the Bannorn enemies. The south of Highever was dotted with black. "How do you know?" In contrast to Howe, his tone was dull. A vein throbbed in his forehead. _Impossible._ It was impossible.

"I have eyewitness reports."

"I want to hear them myself."

Howe's mouth worked, and after a moment he narrowed his eyes. "You simply can't accept the truth. If you will not meet Elissa in battle, then I will. Your men will follow me now, they want to. Give them to me."

Loghain said nothing. It was as if there was no breath in his chest. All the air had been sucked out of it. Howe was waiting. Finally he said, "We'll speak of it tomorrow."

The teyrn's face was a mask of disgust. "You can do nothing. You and Anora, neither of you will lift a damn finger. I am the one running this kingdom now. Let me do what needs to be done, before it is too late. I'm going to finish her."

A moment later Howe was pinned to the wall, Loghain's forearm against his throat. His arm had acted of its own accord, but as Loghain glared at the other man in the narrow space between their noses, he pressed harder. "Your time of telling me what to do, brief as it has been, is at an end. You will do as I say, and nothing more, or you will die."

Out of the corner of his eye, Loghain saw the guards that stood around the walls and at the door moving uneasily towards him, hands on their sword hilts. He turned an eye on them, and they stopped. So this was how it was. Howe was right. The men around him were taking orders from Howe now, and Loghain himself had allowed this to pass. Loghain's hand itched. There was an easy solution to this problem.

Nevertheless Loghain loosened his grip and let his arm fall. He had to find out the truth about Elissa, secure Anora, and then he could act. Before Howe could recover, Loghain turned and stalked out of the room. On the way through the corridors, he stopped at his study door, but did not go in. Ellie's portrait waited there. For months it had been his consolation, then after the attack in Gwaren it had been the ghost looking reproachfully down on him. Now the thought of her little smile took on a different meaning entirely. He kept walking.

Loghain made rounds of the guard posts in the city every few days, and without thinking that is where his steps took him. This time as he listened to the officers' reports, what had happened with the guards in the palace ran through his mind. His eyes bored into the guard captains, wondering which of them was still loyal to him.

At Fort Drakon, the watch captain sounded bored. "All quiet, your grace. Had some prisoners from the north in earlier in the week, but nothing..." He stopped at Loghain's sharp look.

"Prisoners from the north?" Loghain asked, mind working.

The captain shifted nervously. "Aye. Nobody important." Loghain was already walking further into the fortress, and the man's tone became more urgent. "Maker's word, there's nothing. Surely your grace has more important matters..."

Loghain ignored him, boots echoing as he strode across the large hall past the foyer. Sentries saluted him, and the officer at the other end of the hall admitted him without question, but the front captain was dogging his steps. Loghain looked around him, searching. Something was here, he knew it now. Something he had to see. The sweat on the guard captain's brow told him that, if nothing else.

At the inner dungeons, the sentries were startled to see him. The regent had not visited interrogations in a long while, not since the templar they had arrested in Redcliffe, back before there were any darkspawn. Back when his son still lived and his wife was still loyal to him.

Loghain came to a door where the sentry did not move aside to admit him. He could hear screams from within. "Let me pass," he demanded, with quiet warning.

The sentry's eyes moved like an animal caught in a snare and he looked from Loghain to the guard captain. The captain was pale as a ghost, but eventually waved an arm. "Let him pass, man. He's the regent."

As the door swung open, Loghain's eyes fell on a naked woman hanging from chains on the far wall. Her torturer was about to lift the hot iron to her skin again, but whirled, angry at the interruption. When he saw Loghain, his eyes widened. Loghain stood in the doorway, looking around the long hall. The racks and iron crow cages of the Orlesians had been pulled out of storage. They were red-stained, blood both old and fresh soaking into the wood. The room smelled of shit and burning flesh.

For a long moment, no one spoke or moved, then the guard captain began shakily, "Your grace, we had authorization. Teyrn Howe's orders."

Loghain's eyes fell on a row of cells. There were men in them who looked to be newly taken prisoners. Rendon would put those here so that they could see what awaited them, Loghain thought, his mind moving mechanically. Prisoners with information he wanted. In this way, he might get answers from them without having to lift a finger. It was smart. Howe was good at this.

As Loghain passed by their cells, the men looked up at him with a mixture of terror and hope. There were whispers of "Loghain" and "the regent."

"Please, m'lord," one of them whispered hoarsely. "We surrendered. We were promised quarter."

Loghain regarded him, then waved a hand at the guard captain behind him. "Get this man some water." The captain jumped to obey. Loghain waited until the prisoner had sucked down some water from the offered cup, then asked, "Whose man are you?"

The prisoner looked frightened, then his expression firmed as he steeled himself. "We served the Red Fox, m'lord. Your wife. We're Cousland men. What Rendon Howe did to our lord, that wasn't right. It didn't ever feel right, fighting for him."

Loghain's mouth was dry. The hand resting on his sword pommel shook. "You've seen... my wife? You spoke to her?"

"Aye, I said my oaths to the Fox herself. She fights like a man, and bleeds like one. If I have to die here for her, I'll do, gladly. But I don't know where she is now. She moves around."

"What does she want? What were your orders?"

The prisoner was silent, indecisive. From the wall behind him, the tortured woman moaned. Loghain turned, bellowing to the torturer, "Take that woman down from there and bring the surgeon! If she dies, I'll take your head for it." The torturer gaped at him, but scrambled to do as he was bid.

When Loghain turned back, the prisoner swallowed once, and reluctantly answered, "We was to take garrisons and call as many as would to turn back to the Cousland banner and... and to fight for the Grey Wardens. The other Cousland, the boy, he's alive too, they say. He's raising an army to fight the darkspawn."

"Does she intend to unseat Queen Anora? Did she call you to treason?" Loghain's mind clenched in fear at the answer, but he had to hear it. A vision of having to watch a headman's sword fall on Ellie's neck weakened his knees under him. He pushed the image away and insisted, "Tell me now, man. I will honor the promises made to you. You'll have your quarter, but tell me now if this 'fox' is a traitor."

The man scowled. "I took my oath to the Fox and to the Queen. I don't know if you call that treason, m'lord. The high lords decide what's treason and what's not, and they've been known to change their minds."

Loghain liked this answer. The terror that had held him rigid eased a little, and he realized that his heart was beating faster. Something like hope touched his mind. It was foreign and tantalizing. Right now, it was also dangerous to dwell upon. He had to act quickly.

Turning to the guard captain, he waved at the line of cells and said, "Take all these men out of here and move them to quarters in the regular dungeon until I can decide what to do with them. See that they're treated like Fereldans. Does anyone still remember what that means?"

Loghain feared the man might refuse, but the guard captain nodded and began flipping through keys. Returning to the main hall, Loghain looked around until he saw a young page, and grabbed the boy by the arm. Leaning over to whisper, he said, "Boy, I want you to run to the Black Garrison and find Ser Cauthrien. You know who that is, don't you? Good. Find her and tell her to bring men to Fort Drakon. Gwaren men. She'll know what I mean. Give her this." Loghain pulled off his signet ring and handed it to the boy, then fished in his purse and followed it by a gold sovereign. "That's for you. There's another if you're quick."

The boy took off like a crossbow shot. Loghain watched him go, then looked around him. If he left this place, he was afraid that it would be closed to him forever. The illusion of command was everything, and if that was all he had left, he was going to use it. He began to walk around giving orders. They were mostly meaningless, but what mattered was that they were followed, and that the soldiers saw their officers following them.

When his second finally arrived, it was in force. A small army filed in behind her. Relieved, Loghain strode toward her. "Cauthrien. I want you to place some men at posts around the fortress..."

"My lord, I have been looking for you. The queen is missing."

Loghain stopped mid-stride. "Explain."

"Queen Anora is gone from the palace, and no one knows where she went. Lord Howe has also disappeared from the palace, with most of his men. I think..."

"He's taken her." Loghain felt his heart race again, this time with fear. He had been a damn fool, yet again. Yet again Howe was one step ahead of him. That he would dare lay a hand on the queen, that was something that Loghain had not wanted to comprehend. He did not let the shock hold him for long. "Alright. Leave ten men here to secure this place. Send others to close the city gates and the harbor. No one goes in or out. They cannot have gotten far."

Loghain kept Cauthrien and twenty men with him. Dusk had fallen. At the first gate they reached, there was more news. "Grey Wardens, m'lord," the gate guard reported. "Armed to the teeth. I tried to arrest 'em, but Sergeant Kylon said I was to let 'em in."

The gate guard did not know where the Wardens were going, and had not seen the queen nor Howe. As Loghain was questioning him further, a messenger ran up and reported that there was a riot at the Arl of Denerim's estate.

Loghain and Cauthrien exchanged a pointed look, then both took off at a run, their men behind them. Loghain had not prayed in a long time, but as he ran he breathed something wordless and desperate. The thought of someone laying hands on his little girl made him wild. His stride quickened. Cauthrien picked up her own pace to meet it, though they had to pause at times to find their way in the dark streets.

There were men in front of the arl's estate, shouting and waving pieces of wood and craftsman's axes. There was a scuffle as Cauthrien's men met them, but her voice rang out. "Make way for the regent! Fall back, you scoundrels, by order of the regent!" They grumbled and pushed, but they stepped aside.

At the door, there were two very frightened looking guards. One of them put a hand on Loghain's chest to stop him. "I am sorry, your grace. We have orders..." Loghain hit him hard in the face with a gauntleted hand, feeling the man's nose crack under the blow. As the guard fell, Loghain wrenched his shield away from him and kept it. The other door guard stepped back, hands up. Loghain left some of his men to hold the door and moved on.

Inside, the foyer and entrance halls were eerily quiet. There was no sign of guards or servants. Loghain opened every door, and began calling for Anora. They found some bodies, then some servants cowering. There were bodies on the stair leading down into the cellars, most of them in chain mail, Howe men. Someone was cutting a swath through the estate. In the cellars Loghain heard more fighting and ran toward the sound.

He came around a corner, and there she was, blood dripping from her sword, a red-plumed helmet tucked under one arm. She had removed it to get her breath and stood panting, staring at Loghain, hair plastered with sweat to her forehead. Neither spoke for a long moment. Finally she lifted her sword and shoved it wearily at him, taking a step back. "I won't let you touch Fergus."

"Ellie." Loghain struggled to believe it was really her, that they were really talking. Her voice was not the same. It sounded rougher, older, and her hair was cut short, yet here she was. It had been as they said. "Howe did it, didn't he, Ellie? Gwaren." He paused, then forced himself to say the name. "Gareth."

She sucked for a breath. It sounded like a sob. Reading Ellie's silence as confirmation, Loghain pressed his eyes closed a moment. The grief and guilt came back in a rush, stinging him alive. He forced himself to focus. Opening his eyes, he asked, "Have you seen Anora? I think Howe took her."

"She's here. I talked to her, but I can't get to her. Howe has mages and they enchanted the door. We have to find the mages to open it." Before Loghain could answer, a cluster of fighters ran up the corridor behind Ellie, calling for her. They held up when they saw Loghain and Cauthrien's men.

One of them, Fergus Cousland, stepped forward. "Loghain," he said, voice even. "Don't make me fight you."

"I'm not here for you, Cousland. I'm here for Anora."

Fergus' brow knit. He glanced at Ellie and then back at Loghain. "I'm going to kill Howe when I find him."

"I won't stop you."

That surprised them both. Loghain could feel Ellie's eyes turn toward him, but Fergus spoke. "Alright then. Come on, Ellie. I found a master key, let's go see what this opens." He turned down a side hallway. The rest of their company followed. Ellie stood rooted a moment, her eyes on Loghain. She appeared about to say something, but finally turned and was gone.

Loghain forced himself to move. The knowledge that Anora was nearby and held prisoner drove him. They ran through the labyrinthine cellars, finding more guards. Some fought, most surrendered when they recognized Loghain. An officer agreed to show him to where Howe was holed up. The door guards fought, so when Loghain finally got the door open, Rendon stood waiting, arms folded across his chest. Two men in mage robes and a few other guards flanked him.

"So. It comes to this," Howe began. "I should have cut your throat long ago."

Loghain smiled a little. "I was just thinking the same thing of you."

Howe laughed and paced a few steps. "Surrender. If you do not, these mages will cook you and your men where you stand. I might spare Cauthrien, there. I could have a little fun with her. When I catch Elissa, I'll make the two of them dance. If you'd promise to be a good boy, I could let you live long enough to watch."

"You're a madman."

"And you're a fool," Howe answered angrily. "You've been dancing for my tune for a long time. I was surprised at how easy it was. You so wanted to believe that you were still the_ great hero_. As long as I simpered and bowed to you, I could do as I please. The bowing, as you may have noticed, is over."

The truth of it was bitter, but Loghain did not let it in. That was for later. He took a few steps towards Howe, senses alert to any movement from the mages. "Enough talk. Call off your men and let's settle this, you and me."

Howe smiled in a snarl and waved his hand in signal. As soon as Loghain saw it, he lunged, crashing into Rendon and throwing him to the floor. Behind him, Cauthrien and his men shouted, engaging the guards. Howe was pinned beneath his shield, and Loghain struck at his face with the hilt of his sword. Howe shifted and caught only a glancing blow on his cheek, then brought his axe around, trying to gash at Loghain's side. Loghain had to scramble back to avoid it. The two men were up then, Howe's face bleeding, his eyes glaring in feral hatred. Loghain felt the calm of battle.

Then the room exploded into flame. Loghain brought his arms up, shielding his face and striking at flames as though at swarming bees. They licked at his skin and Loghain smelled burning hair. He went to one knee, dimly realizing that the screams he heard were his own. Along the floor, the flames were less. Loghain saw a gap in the wall and crawled in that direction. The mages, he realized, helpless. There was no defense against those who could set the very air on fire. Even as he thought this, there was a gust like wind, and the flames receded in a wave. Through the smoke Loghain saw a man standing in the doorway with his arms held out, murmuring an incantation. With a shock he saw Maric's face. It was not Maric. This man was younger, his hair short and sandy colored. This was Maric's son, the bastard. He had been a templar before he was a Warden, Loghain remembered.

There was no time for amazement. Loghain scrambled to his feet and saw Howe across the room, batting at flames that had caught on his tunic. Loghain strode forward, went to one knee and brought his shield up while he swung his sword around in an arc toward Howe's knees. Rendon tried to jump out of the way but the blade caught him across the shin. He screamed, buckling, and struck out at Loghain as he fell. The axe blade hit Loghain's shoulder, denting his armor but not penetrating it. Loghain brought his sword up again, then sliced downward. Howe's axe clattered to the floor along with half of the arm that had been holding it. On his back, Howe turned his head to gawk stupidly at the blood gushing from his empty arm stump. He looked back at Loghain, eyes wide with shock and outrage.

Howe sputtered, trying to speak. Loghain might have allowed him, but the memory of Gareth's face swam before his eyes. He brought his sword down, point first, through Rendon Howe's neck and into the floorboards beneath it. Blood leapt from Howe's mouth and his eyes rolled back. The body trembled, arms clenching as if to embrace Loghain, then fell slack.

Some time later, Loghain did not know how long, Cauthrien was at his shoulder. "My lord, are you injured?"

Shakily Loghain pushed himself up from Rendon's corpse, bent to wrench his sword free, and stood, regarding Cauthrien. "I'm fine," he said, looking around. The remainder of his men were limping around, helping others. The mages were dead.

Others ran in, Ellie and Fergus among them. The siblings stood together, staring down at Howe's body. Ellie raised her eyes to him and said, disbelieving, "You killed him?"

Loghain made no reply, only reached for a cloth from his pocket and began wiping the blood from his sword blade. Ellie stepped forward. "Loghain, we got Anora out. She's coming with us. My men are taking her now, somewhere where she'll be safe."

He jerked his head up. "You're seizing her?"

"Anora is coming with us by her own will. She's afraid to return to the palace." Ellie paused, then added, "She's afraid of you."

Loghain regarded his wife dully. He found that he was not surprised, and shifted his gaze away. "It's a good idea. I have to put the palace guard in order again, get rid of those loyal to Howe." He thought Ellie would leave, but she still hesitated.

"Loghain, Gareth is alive."

His eyes lifted, went wide. "Alive?"

"After the attack in Gwaren, I sent him to the Free Marches with Anya and Alun."

Loghain's mind worked over this information. Finally he said, "You let me think he was dead..."

"Because I needed Howe to think he was." They both glanced at the body that lay between them, blood pooling out beneath him.

"And today, you wanted to make sure that I would kill Howe if I found him first."

Ellie met his eyes and nodded. Voice pained, she said, "You tried to kill Fergus. Why, Loghain? Why?"

"I never tried to kill him," he answered wearily, sheathing his sword. "I had to talk to him, to find out what the Orlesians were trying to do with the Wardens. I told you this in my letter."

"You sent an assassin! The Antivan elf. We have him here, he's working for us now."

Loghain looked at her sharply, eyes narrowing. "I sent no assassin, Ellie."

"He has orders with your seal on them. He told us you refused at first, but later Howe came to him and gave him..." Ellie's voice trailed off as the realization came. She looked down at the body, gasped, and took a step back from Loghain, raising her hand to her head. "It was a forgery."

"So it seems." Loghain wondered how many other orders had been sent out in his name. It was his responsibility nonetheless. Ellie's betrayal now made sense to him, and even that was his fault. The smell of cooked blood in the room made him want to retch. He stepped back from Ellie, half-turning.

He heard Fergus and Ellie conferring quietly. Finally she said, "We have to go, Loghain. I'll find you at the palace."

He lifted a hand in a vague acknowledgement.

The next days were a blur of activity. One by one, Loghain and Cauthrien went through the guard rosters, interviewed the men, examined the officers' log books. There were arrests. Now that Howe was dead, most of his men willingly submitted to Loghain's leadership.

Loghain called the city guard commander, Kylon, to his study and accused him of conspiring with the Wardens. The sergeant did not deny it. With Ellie's portrait looking on, Loghain berated the guardsman, then made him provisional Arl of Denerim in Howe's place. "Someone has to do it,' Loghain growled, dismissing the sergeant.

Ellie found him in his study late the next night. His guard had let her through without so much as a by-your-leave, Loghain noted. They had always liked Ellie more than him. He sat at his desk, shadowed in gloom. He had not bothered to light the lamps. She stood stiffly, casting furtive glances around the room.

"You look well," he said lamely. It wasn't really true. She was thin, dark circles lined her eyes. A scar traced one cheek.

She was not in a mood for niceties. "There's to be a Landsmeet. Teagan is in Denerim, and Anora has agreed to his demands. Eamon still lies ill, and there was some sort of revolt in Redcliffe, but your men put it down and restored order. Eamon's son died in the fighting." She paused, then went on, "Loghain, Teagan has witnesses now. They know that you poisoned Eamon. The banns also want you to answer for the hangings at Oswin."

Loghain sat still, absorbing this. At last he replied, "Perhaps it is best. For Anora."

"I think so." Ellie's face was a mask, her body rigid. She watched him, then her eyes shifted, catching the portrait. She appeared startled by it. After a moment she turned back. "We had an agreement, Loghain. An arrangement you entered into willingly, by your honor, then you broke it. He killed my family and you rewarded him for it."

Loghain lifted his eyes, angry. "I was trying to protect you and Gareth. Howe was going to try you for treason, Ellie. I don't give a piss about honor. I couldn't let him hurt you."

"He did."

"I know." Loghain's head bowed. "All of this can rightly be called my fault. I know that, Elissa."

"I don't want your guilt. I need to know if you are going to honor the agreement you made."

Loghain could not look at her. She was so close. She was still his wife, despite the soldier's stance, despite her glare. Pieces of memory drifted through his mind, of a different time. The winter had been stone cold, and it had seemed to last forever. He ached for some softness, a moment's ease, yet Ellie was further away from him than when he had thought she was dead. The last pieces of him that could feel anything, these were being ground as though under heavy stones. "I will," he answered. "At the Landsmeet, I'll do whatever you ask, you and Anora."

She drew a taut breath, perhaps of relief. "Good. Then I'll say farewell for now. Fergus will be in touch with you again, or Anora, before the Landsmeet."

"Where are you going?"

"The south has fallen to darkspawn, Loghain. We need armies. I'm going to go get Highever."

Loghain lifted his eyes then, surprised not at this news but at the tone of her voice. She spoke with none of the halting he remembered of her. Her voice was confident, and there was a hard edge in her eyes. The corner of his lip curled in a smile. As matters had turned out, it would be his head under the executioner's sword, not Ellie's. Nevertheless, he saw that she would make her way. With the clarity of hindsight, he saw that this was how it should have been all along, that he should have said these words to her months before.

"Go get it," he told her, his mind at ease.


	35. Chapter 35

Summerday, 9:31 Dragon Age. Kirkwall, Free Marches.

Anya pulled Gareth back, his arms and legs still flailing, his tunic sleeve torn half off. The other boy had gotten it worse. That one lay sprawled on the ground, blood streaming from his nose, other children gathered around chattering and staring. The adults were staring, too. They were mostly Fereldans, gathered in the dirty square in Lowtown for what passed for a Summerday feast.

"Let me go!" Gareth struggled against Anya, wanting to finish the job on the bleeding boy. Over Anya's arm he yelled back at him, "That's for saying my father is a traitor!"

"Gilean..." Anya began, reproving.

"I'm NOT Gilean!" Loud enough for the entire square to hear, he shouted, "My name is GARETH. My father is the Hero of River Dane and he's NOT a traitor! He's not!"

Anya's eyes went wide and she hissed at Gareth to stop, but when she looked back at the crowd, they were all laughing.

"And I'm the empress of Orlais," one of the matrons called back, sweeping her apron out. "Welcome to me court, little lord."

A man snorted. "Orlais. No wonder the ale tastes like goat piss." There were more such calls, but Anya was halfway down the alley and heard no more.

Eventually Gareth stopped fighting her and walked on his own. When they reached the step of Gamlen Amell's house, he dragged on Anya's hand again. "I don't want to go in there. It smells bad and the man is mean."

Anya bent down, taking his shoulders. Gareth's face was hot red, his eyes blazing with anger but shiny with the tears that he always held back. "Now you listen to me, boy. What those others say, that doesn't mean anything. You have to let it go. People are just talking, that's all."

"They said my da killed the king. He wouldn't do that. Cailan was my friend. My da is a hero."

She could see him clinging to these truths like a ship to its mooring during a hard storm. "Gil..."

"I'm not Gil."

"You are now," Anya answered wearily.

"I'm not!" Before she could grab him again, Gareth slipped past her and took off on a run. The mage let him go. An hour later, she sent Alun on to the Hanged Man. She knew the boy would be holed up there with Varric Tethras, listening to the dwarf's filthy stories and eating him out of his last crumb. Since the dwarf encouraged the boy, Anya considered this just deserts.

When Alun had dragged him home, Gareth shot Anya a black look as he crossed over to his pallet on the floor. She clucked her tongue at him. "What will your mother say to me when she hears you've been running wild in the streets of Kirkwall?"

"I'm Gil Hawke," Gareth answered dully. "He hasn't got a mother." The boy lay down, his back to her, and pretended to sleep.

* * *

Summerday, 9:31 Dragon Age. Denerim.

"Lords and ladies of Ferelden, hear me. My father is no longer the man you know. This man is not the Hero of River Dane. This man turned his troops aside and refused to protect your king as he fought bravely against the darkspawn..."

A ripple of gasps and shocked whispers coursed throughout the chamber. Loghain stood wooden, listening. Though he knew what was coming and accepted the necessity of what Anora had to do in this hall to survive, his daughter's words still hit him like lances. The half-truths and exaggerations were what politics was made of, the game that he and Maric had always hated but had to play. Anora was much better suited to it. Her face was a mask and her voice was solemn, not wavering. Loghain could not tell how much she really believed of what she said. They had not spoken since the day she disappeared and he killed Rendon Howe. Fergus Cousland had been their go-between, and so he still was today.

When Anora finished, Fergus stepped forward. "The queen speaks the truth. Loghain was our hero once, our commander for many years, but no longer. It is time to turn the throne back over to those who rightfully hold it, and to choose another to lead Ferelden's armies."

Loghain could feel his neck hot, his stomach sour. The humiliation burned like a brand. He held it back and looked around the room, trying to read the burst of chatter and the expressions in the gallery. Anora was looking around at them, too, then Loghain caught the worried glance that she cast in his direction. They had hoped that casting blame for the military and political failures of the past year on Loghain would be enough to shield the queen and turn the lords' confidence toward her and the Wardens. Grudgingly, Loghain had agreed to that plan, but the doubt in the room was still palpable. There were cries of "We need Loghain! The darkspawn are coming!" Others were shouting back. It was still a dangerous impasse. Some were already reaching to unsheath their scabbards.

Before Loghain could step forward to try to salvage things, Teagan's voice rang out from the gallery. "My lords and ladies. I am not a vengeful man, nor is my brother. We are just men, however. Loghain has failed us, and we will never stand together so long as the throne is in his shadow. Queen Anora said this herself, but for love of her father she stopped short. I will tell you what the queen is not willing to say." The man's face was long, sorrowful. He hesitated long, but finally said, "Loghain must die for his crimes."

Loghain glared up at Teagan, but he was not surprised. It was the logical next step to Anora's plan, whether she had been willing to see it or not. The failure at Ostagar and the subsequent inability to unite the country had to be blamed on someone. He was determined to shield Anora from it. If there had been another Grey Warden on the floor other than his wife's brother, he might have tried to turn it on them. It would be easy to do. Many still remembered the Grey Wardens' treason two centuries before. They were the ones at the king's side in Ostagar, and Cousland could easily be implicated for stirring up the civil war. Doing so would blacken Ellie, however. And that was also impossible.

"So be it," Loghain said, accepting the sentence. He spoke it aloud, but there was so much shouting in the Landsmeet chamber that no one heard him but the guards standing nearby.

Over the din Anora shouted to be heard, and finally the chamber quieted. "My father must face justice, it is true. But there is another way." Turning, she beckoned behind her to a dark-haired man in poor leather armor. Loghain did not recognize him, and his mind spun trying to figure out what trick Anora had up her sleeve.

At that moment the rear door of the chamber opened, and a mass of soldiers spilled in to the main floor. They had obviously ridden hard; even from the front, Loghain could smell sweat and horse. Out from the middle of them stepped a woman in red steel armor and a black surcoat, a red-plumed helmet tucked under her arm. The banns on the main floor parted to let her and her coterie through. Across the crowd Loghain heard the name "Fox" ripple and echo.

Loghain's heart fell. The thought of Ellie denouncing him had been a comfort just a moment before, because it meant she would be free, and safe. But he had not wanted to go to his death with those words in his ears. He had not wanted her to see it. His knees weakened under him a little.

Anora was waiting for the crowd to settle down again, and staring at Ellie, trying to read her. Ellie's face was impassive. Finally Anora turned once more and gestured at the dark-haired man. "This is Riordan of the Grey Wardens. He was taken prisoner by Rendon Howe, tortured, and rescued by the Couslands. Now I beg you hear him."

The dark-haired Warden nodded at the queen and cleared his throat. "You want to know whether to follow Loghain or to follow the Wardens. Do both. The teyrn is a warrior and a general of renown. Let him be of use." At this, the Orlesian turned to address Fergus. "Let him go through the Joining. Let him become a Grey Warden."

Loghain reared around, staring. The younger Cousland was also obviously taken aback. "You want him to become a Grey Warden?" Fergus, asked, uncertain.

Anora broke in, saying earnestly, "The Joining itself is often fatal, is it not? If he survives, you gain a general. If not, you have your revenge. Doesn't that satisfy you?"

The queen spoke with calm authority. She had planned this, Loghain realized. This was her doing, her arrangement with the Orlesian Warden to save her father's life and bargain for favor with the Warden order. Grimly, Loghain marveled at the art of it.

Fergus was still trying to catch up, frowning and considering. From behind him, a strident voice rose in challenge. "Absolutely not!" Eyes turned towards the speaker. It was Alistair, Maric's bastard. His eyes were blazing. "Riordan, this man abandoned our brothers and then blamed us for the deed. He hunted us down like animals. He tortured you! How can we simply forget that?"

For a time the Wardens argued amongst themselves, Alistair's voice rising in anger, Fergus' low and reasoning. Riordan stood between them, mostly silent, his arms crossed. Occasionally he put in a comment and it was obvious that the argument was two to one, and that Alistair was losing it. Loghain's eyes slipped towards Ellie. She was watching her brother, but as though sensing Loghain's gaze, her eyes shifted to meet it. He did not know what to do. That had not happened to him often, and now when it was most important, he could not see the way ahead. Anora's plan was a good one, a perfect alignment of mutual interests. He did not want to be a Warden, but the thought of dying in disgrace while Ellie and his daughter looked on made him sick with anguish. That it should end that way... _What do you want?_ he thought, gazing at Ellie. _Tell me what to do._

A moment later Ellie stepped forward, raising her arm for quiet. The nobles' eyes all turned on her, those in back craning to see. She was Loghain's wife and his enemy, and none knew what to expect. The banns standing behind her shifted and cast nervous glances at one another.

"My lords and ladies," Ellie called. "You know me. I am Elissa Mac Tir, born Cousland. I am the Red Fox. We have fought together and bled together, but it was the blood of our brothers we shed. Now an enemy is coming for us who has no thought for titles or of thrones." Ellie stopped, and began pointing at men in the crowd. "Bann Isley, last winter your men raided your neighbor's cattle and blamed another bann for the deed, so that you could profit twice from their feud. Bann Torren. You denounced Bann Erald as an Orlesian spy to Howe, giving him pretext to attack, using your men as infantry. His hall lies sacked and burned, his children put to the sword." There were several more accusations. Ellie knew these men. Loghain had heard that she had taken hostages. She had their brothers and sons in her own army, and obviously had not been idle at studying them.

Finally her arm swung around to Cormac ap Feil. The bann had entered with her, but stood now with his son and a few liegemen, hands braced on his hips "Bann Cormac. You sacked Gwaren and killed innocent people, set fire to the town. Your men laid hands on me and would have killed me but for your greed for ransom. My son was forced to flee, and we do not know where he is or if he still lives. Yet I do not ask for your blood. I ask for you to fight with me." Ap Feil scowled at her but said nothing. Ellie went on, addressing those in the gallery. "If you have been spared the ravages of war, my lords and ladies, it is by the Maker's grace. Your time is coming. Haven't we bled enough? Haven't enough people died?"

Her eyes swiveled around to Loghain. "My husband has made mistakes. His guilt is not in question, but he always serves Ferelden. Let him still do so. The darkspawn are coming. If the Grey Wardens will have Loghain, then let him join their ranks."

Loghain felt his tension ease. She had answered his question. He did not know if he liked the answer, but as their eyes held, he saw that she didn't like it, either. What else she was thinking, it was impossible to read. Among the banns, there were black glares. Some saw this as betrayal. They didn't challenge her, however. Either they did not have the will, or they recognized that it would do no good.

From the gallery, Teagan called down, "Teyrna Elissa. If we accept these terms, Loghain loses all land and title? He steps down from the regency, and the queen rules alone?"

"Be assured, Bann Teagan." Anora spoke this time, answering. "If my father survives the Blight, he will leave Ferelden. You will have no cause to doubt who rules." She had said it coldly, but afterward cast a glance at her father. Down to the last brutal necessity. Though it was bitter, he felt a strange pride. She had always been willing to move even him, if it meant she kept the throne. Once it had been to marry him off. Now she was maneuvering him again, she and Ellie. Yet they had done well. It would be better for Ellie and Gareth, too, if he were gone.

"No!" Alistair stepped forward, shaking with rage. "No! I will not stand for this. I didn't want to be king, but if that's what it takes to make sure Loghain gets justice, then I'll do it. I'll take the crown."

Loghain scowled, and an uneasy guilt nagged at him. He thought of Maric's letter, requiring him to put Alistair in the succession if the need was dire. Maric had left it to him to figure out what "dire" meant. Yet the witch would probably laugh to see this turn of events, Maric's bastard back to condemn Loghain.

Anora turned sharply, beginning to lose her calm reserve. The Theirin in the room was the greatest threat to her rule, if he found patrons in the chamber. "Listen to this! You would put your own selfish desire for revenge above the needs of Ferelden. What sort of king would you make?"

Fergus interjected, his tone reluctant, "Alistair is Maric's son. He has a legitimate claim. If he wants the throne, we have to put it to a vote."

Loghain could see that Anora wanted to find some way to disallow this. The wheels of her mind were turning, calculating, casting for an objection. Loghain could think of a way, but apparently she had not come up on it yet. By ancient Fereldan law, when the tribes of Clayne would come together for their meet and there was a dispute they could not settle, they would let the gods decide. The practice was little used any longer but still survived. Maric had invoked it to end the war with the Orlesians. Loghain could invoke it now, and challenge this Alistair to a duel. The boy was young but upset as he was, it would be easy to exploit his anger to beat him. Yet there was a chance that Loghain could lose, and Anora's throne was on the line. He kept silent.

Anora was staring down at the floor. Finally she looked up. "There is another possibility. A compromise. It was your suggestion, Warden." Her eyes met Fergus', then she gestured with her head towards Alistair.

Fergus' brow lifted. "If that is what you wish." Turning to address the assembly, he said, "Queen Anora and Alistair might marry and share the throne. The line of Calenhad will be preserved, and our ruling queen still keep her place. I hold this the best course for all of us."

Loghain saw the anger in Alistair's eyes burn lower, turning into a deep resentment. It burned toward Fergus now. The two Wardens stared at each other, but finally Alistair backed down. Snarling, he said, "Fine. If you want Loghain in the Wardens so badly, then you can have him, but you'll not have me. I'm leaving the order to marry this murderer's daughter."

As one, the chamber let out a breath. People could sense that it was all drawing to a close, and against all likelihood, the many swords in the hall had remained in their scabbards. A vote was called for. It proceeded quickly and with little dissent. As the lords were voting, Loghain caught Anora's eye. Her face was white. It reminded him of Ellie, who had stood white-faced on the Gwaren green as she was married to him. Loghain could also see the sadness in Anora's eyes. It was likely that he was the only one who would ever see it.

Ellie was among the crowd and Loghain could not see her anymore. In the voting had heard her say, "I speak for Highever and for Gwaren. Hail to Queen Anora and to Alistair who will be king."

After the voting was complete, Anora said some rousing words about fighting the darkspawn and turned over control of the armies to Fergus Cousland. It was over. Loghain went off toward the back foyer, unsure any longer what to do. His head swam.

Fergus Cousland came up to him. "I have some things to do here. I'll see you back at the palace." Numbly, Loghain nodded, and headed in that direction. People parted from him and avoided his eyes. Some looked angry, others uncertain, even pitying. He hated both and was glad to be in his rooms, away from the scrutiny.

Cauthrien found him there first. "My lord, I heard what happened. A Warden? Can they do that to you?"

Loghain was sitting on a bench by the wall, leaned over on his knees. "It could have been much worse. Here, help me out of my armor. It appears I won't be needing it today."

When he was down to his black tunic and hose, Cauthrien lingered. Loghain did not know what to say to her. She had been with him longer than anyone, always loyal, never requiring anything of him. Now he had nothing more to give her.

"My lord, what should I do?" she asked.

"I'm not a lord anymore, Cauthrien. And not your commander. You should go on as you have, leading men yourself."

"Was I right to let her ladyship into the hall?"

Loghain smirked. "You tried to stop her? She had a right to be there."

"She betrayed you. I thought she might make trouble for you in the Landsmeet."

"Elissa did what she felt was necessary, then and today."

"As you say, my lord." Cauthrien wove on her feet, half turning to go. She stopped and said, "My lord. Loghain. You are still my commander."

He smiled tiredly. "Thank you, Cauthrien."

Fergus and Ellie came in as the knight was departing. Cauthrien gave them a pointed look as she passed, not altogether friendly. She took slights to Loghain very personally, and was stubborn in holding resentments. A very Fereldan trait. Loghain loved her for it.

He sat back down on the wall bench, avoided Ellie's eyes and spoke to Fergus instead. "You've come to take me off to this 'Joining.' Something the Orlesians cooked up, no doubt."

Fergus smiled. "Not yet. Riordan has some preparations to make, and the mages have to, uh..." He looked back at the hallway, gesturing vaguely. "Mage things. I'll come collect you when we're ready." Exchanging a look with his sister, Fergus left them.

Ellie stood, uncertain, and finally said, "I got a message from Riven. They've seen darkspawn south and east of Redcliffe. The horde appears to be moving there from Southern. Fergus wants to march as soon as... when they're done with you."

"I don't suppose Riven was doing any good sitting on his thumbs at Gherlen Pass," Loghain replied glumly.

"No. Fergus will send for the Orlesian Wardens, but we agreed. No chevaliers, not yet. Not unless the worst happens."

"They didn't even try to cross. Keeping Riven there so long, that was... an error in strategy." He bit down on the gall of this as he said it. It was bitter indeed that not only had he been wrong about both the Blight and the Orlesians, he had been utterly, disastrously wrong.

Ellie moved closer, taking a seat on the bench some space from him. Loghain stole a quick glance at her. She had also removed her armor, and looked to have found somewhere to wash and change into fresh hose and tunic. He felt a sudden ache in his groin, and cursed it silently. That was the last thing he should be thinking about.

"I'll speak to the Grand Cleric tomorrow," Loghain said at last, forcing the words. "If I live, that is. She won't object to an annulment. You should still be able to keep your title, and Gareth, too, I hope. That bastard of Maric's will make trouble, but Anora should be able to manage it."

She nodded, not looking at him. Her face was taut. "About Gareth..."

"I tried to send word, but no ships are crossing. We should keep trying, tell them to stay away. Alun should keep him there until the Blight is defeated."

Ellie rubbed a hand over her eyes. "I should have gone with him." Her voice broke. "He begged me to go. If I had done it, I would never have involved myself with the banns. I wouldn't have killed those people. Your men."

Turning his head to look at her fully, Loghain answered vehemently, "Don't you blame yourself. Not for any of it. You probably saved Gareth's life. He'll be alright. He's our boy, yours and mine." Loghain paused, then drew a bloody scrap of leather out from his pocket and handed it to her. From her face, he saw that Ellie recognized her glove immediately. "They brought it to me. The message said Bann Matthus. Now I'm not sure if it was really him or Howe all along, but they were going to try to unseat Anora. I couldn't risk that, so I tried to find you by another way."

"Bann Matthus? Oswin." Ellie's thoughts worked, then her face blanched. "That's why you had those men hanged? You were looking for me. Holy Maker."

"They were traitors. But yes, I might have reacted... too strongly."

Ellie was gripping the glove, and shook her head. "What a bloody awful mess. I didn't think this could get any worse."

"You should have come to me," he said quietly. "Sent a message. Maker's breath, I thought you were dead."

"And I thought you were trying to kill my brother." She forced a teary smile, adding, "An error of strategy."

"So it seems." After a moment's silence he reached a hand to her shoulder, touched it tentatively.

Ellie flinched. "Loghain. No. I can't."

He drew back. "It's alright." There was an impasse then. After a long silence, Loghain lifted his brow and said, "'The Red Fox'?"

She laughed, embarrassed. "That wasn't my idea. I needed to hide, but had it been left to me, I'd have been Ser Winifred or something."

"Lovely. You won the banns over, at any rate."

"It wasn't hard." As his eyebrow flew up, she explained, "You were losing them, Loghain, even as it appeared that you had won everything. Empress Celene taught me the danger to such a situation."

"Wonderful. You're applying strategy from Orlais now."

"I'm serious. You remember the tournament I fought in, the game the Orlesian nobles were playing? They wanted to make Cailan look foolish, to anger him so that it would ruin the diplomatic mission. All along Cailan thought he was winning, but it was only a facade."

"And I suppose you also learned the art of disguise in Orlais," Loghain replied wryly. "You played a knight then, too, as I recall."

Her smile returned. "You always said to study your enemy."

Loghain watched her, aching now in his throat more than the lower regions. It had been months since they had sat like this, just talking. There had been no one at all to talk to in that long. Afraid that she would leave if the conversation flagged, he asked, "Highever is secure?"

"Yes. If my father was in the hole before, we're under the hole now, but I gave what I could to re-stock the castle. I think that we should use Highever as a last stand if the rest of the country falls."

"Good. A desperate plan, but you've done well to think that far ahead." Loghain's eyes lowered. "Thank you, for what you did in the Landsmeet."

"It was the right thing. Killing you, that would have served no one." Ellie turned towards him. "Fergus said that Anora was telling the truth about this Joining. You could die from it."

"I suppose." He met her eyes. "Get the annulment, Ellie, even if I die tonight. Denounce me, make it official."

"That would make it as if we were never married?"

"Do it for Gareth's sake. I need to know that my disgrace won't hurt either of you, that you'll have an income and some standing left. Please. And... tell him I'm sorry. I didn't want any of this, for you or for him."

The tears in Ellie's eyes began to swell and Loghain felt some in his throat, too. Blindly she reached out for his shoulders. He turned quickly, drawing her close, and his breath seized as a shock of gratitude hit him. Resting his chin on her head, Loghain rocked her, closed his eyes and tried to banish everything else but this sensation. To his relief, Ellie made no move to withdraw. Eventually he rested back, her head lying against his chest.

Some hours later, Fergus found them propped in the corner. They both had slept. It was late, close to midnight, Loghain thought.

"Sorry," Fergus mumbled. "Everything's ready."

Ellie stood when Loghain did. "I'm coming with you."

Her brother winced and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Ellie. That's not possible."

As Loghain moved away, Ellie reached out to grab his sleeve. "No." Her voice was edged with panic.

He turned back, regarding her with a surge of tenderness. Whatever happened next, she had just given him a great gift. Loghain removed the hand from his sleeve, clasped it and brought it to his lips. Ellie stepped to him and he lowered to meet her, kissing her. When he released her, calm had settled in him. For the first time, Loghain began to think that he might survive this, whatever it was.

Anora was waiting at the door of the chamber where the ritual would take place. She stood taut, her fingers working nervously. "Father. I..."

The practiced speech didn't come out. Loghain knew she was thinking of what had happened during the Landsmeet, of her denunciations and the scheming around him., and agonizing over it. Eventually she would remember that she had done exactly as he had raised her to do. Laying a hand on her arm, he said quietly, "Anora. Be the queen you were meant to be. Nothing would please me more."

She blinked, nodded, and after a moment stepped aside to let them pass. Inside the chamber, the Orlesian was waiting, a large chalice in his hand. Fergus followed Loghain in and the door swung heavily behind them.

* * *

The darkness was burning. He choked on acid fumes. They were in his throat, his eyes. The agony was unbearable, but he clawed himself up. There was danger here, enemies all around, he could hear them whispering, hissing, soft screeches. The darkness was complete. Then he began to see them, crawling over each other like a mass of insects, all trying to move forward. Loghain knew where they were going, because he had a sudden powerful urge to go there, too. He had to see. He groaned, straining to move.

Voices came closer, not the whispering, but real voices. One of them familiar. "He'll make it. He's going to make it." That was Fergus, Loghain recognized dimly. His wife's brother. He sounded happy. There had been a ritual, some kind of test he had to pass. Loghain could feel the stone floor of the palace beneath him, the dull pain of a bruise where he had fallen.

Before he could fully come to, the darkness drew him back in. Then Loghain saw what he had been straining towards. A massive creature sat amongst the crawling figures. Its lizard neck arched, and two glittering eyes regarded him. He saw razor teeth, and it uttered what sounded like hissing laughter. Words formed in his mind. "A new plaything. Come and play, little one. Or simply wait. I am coming for you."

Repulsed, Loghain struggled to wake, but he was paralyzed. When great wings flapped and the creature lifted away, he felt both relief and a great longing ache. He tried to follow, pulled onward as though by an invisible drag.

When he woke some time later, he found that they had moved him. He was in a bed, no longer on the floor. A lamp burned. Loghain blinked at the light, pained by it. When he groaned, there was movement. Someone was sitting next to him on the bed. He felt fingers stroking his forehead, and heard Ellie's voice. "It's over. You did it, Loghain. Rest now."

It wasn't over. It was just beginning. Groaning again, Loghain hooked an arm around Ellie's hip and held on to her as though her warm weight could anchor him. The dreams came for him anyway. Darkness closed over, and the whispering grew louder.

Some hours passed and he stirred. The lamp was burning low, nearly out. Ellie lay sleeping in the bed beside him. Loghain's head pounded and there was an evil, burning foulness in his mouth and stomach, but he sensed that he might sleep now, really sleep instead of stumbling through waking nightmare. He rested an arm across Ellie's waist, slid closer to her, and closed his eyes.

Loghain woke with the sun in his eyes, alone in the bed. He blinked at the window, laid a hand across his forehead, and tried to forget the sights and sounds of the night. They were still with him. The whispering was not as insistent, but it was still there. The realization that it might always be there, waking or sleeping, made him sick with dread. His stomach still burned from foulness, and also now from a voracious hunger.

At a sound, he looked up. Ellie came out of the study and stood by the bedside, smiling. "You're awake. How do you feel?"

"Don't ask," Loghain grumbled. He glanced around. "Water?"

"I'll get it." She disappeared into the other room and returned with a pitcher and glass. Loghain sat up and took the water. She asked, "You had bad dreams?"

"That term has new meaning." He drained the glass and reached for more.

Ellie gave him a nervous glance while she poured. "You spoke in your sleep. You talked about a dragon."

Loghain nodded. "I think it was the archdemon." He paused, then said, "You once told me 'dragons seem to follow you.' I'm afraid that's got new meaning, too."

She watched him, worried, but then a voice called from the outer rooms. It was Fergus. Ellie called back and Fergus entered, crossing his arms and smiling grimly at Loghain. "It gets better. Sort of."

"How reassuring." Loghain sat up carefully, laying a hand on his stomach. He glanced up at Fergus, realized that this young man had already undergone the same ritual, sometime between the massacre of his family and the ruin at Ostagar. The knowledge cast his wife's little brother in a new light. "So. I passed your test. What now?"

"Now we march. Riordan is going on ahead to Redcliffe. We need to follow as soon as we can."

"And I am to be under your command?"

Fergus stirred on his feet, glancing at Ellie before looking back. "I know it's strange. Listen, I'll need your help, if we're to have any chance at all. I'm glad to have you, but if your men hesitate to follow my orders..."

"Relax, Cousland. I am beaten. My men will follow you because I will do the same thing I always have: Fight beside them." That prospect cheered Loghain suddenly. There was surely one way to quiet the whispering, and that was to beat on something with a sword.

The Cousland Warden hesitated, appraising, and finally nodded. "Very well. Ellie...?"

"I'm coming with you. I've sent Roslyn back with messages to the Bannorn to muster at Redcliffe."

Loghain stood. "Fine. Good. Before I chase any dragons, I'm going to find breakfast. I'm so hungry I could eat a dragon, whole."

Fergus grinned. "Au feu? With hot sauce?"

"I'll follow your orders, Cousland, but spare me your feeble attempts at wit."

"Enough talk of dragons, you two." Ellie pushed Fergus back out the door, then turned to look over her shoulder. "I need to go out and see my men are ready. I'll stop in the kitchens and order you a breakfast. Are you alright, Loghain?"

That was a complicated question. He was stripped and disgraced, recruit in a foreign order of dubious connections, filled with black poison in mind and body. Anora was to be married to a Theirin by-blow, another Cailan. Yet her throne was intact and did not need his patronage to secure it. Gareth was most likely alive, out of the way of both the Blight and his political troubles, at least for now. One way or another he was going to lose Elissa, but at least she was whole and had stood with him in the Landsmeet. The concern in her voice was sincere. Even with the dragon waiting ahead of him, Loghain saw that he was better than he had been in a long time.

"I am well, Ellie," he answered with a faint smile. "I will see you later."


	36. Chapter 36

_This is the final chapter of _The Arrangement_, with a short epilogue to follow. A few kudos are in order._

_Any thanks must start with the Makers- the Dragon Age writers- in particular David Gaider and Mary Kirby, the talent behind Loghain Mac Tir. They did the hard work. I'm sorry for fondling your characters. Not **too** sorry, of course. I owe additional debts of inspiration to George R. R. Martin and more recently to Cecelia Holland, in particular her novel _Great Maria_.  
_

_Without SurelyForth's prodding, this story would never have seen the light of day. After encouraging me to write it, she then proceeded to patiently preview each chapter and keep my spirits up. It's truly all her fault. Gareth owes Surely a debt, too, for giving him a friend in Kirkwall. Her character, Wilhelmina, is "the" Hawke in _The Arrangement_. In a universe where Wil Hawke is not fostering exiled Mac Tirs, she lives in the stories _Maps and Legends_ and _Life and How to Live It_._

_Thanks also are due to the regulars of the Loghain fan thread at BSN. Because of them, I had a Ph.D. in Loghain before I wrote a single word. Thanks, guys, for embracing a "hater."_

_To my readers: Wow. You absolutely blew me away. I am amazed and gratified that anyone would read my drivel, let alone offer so many kind reviews and notes on BSN. If anyone ever asks me why I spent hours of my life writing a story with someone else's characters, I'll tell them that a big reason is the built-in community._

_A little more than a year ago, I sent the first two chapters of this story to SurelyForth with comments amounting to "am I crazy?," "people will hate this," and "why do I love it so much?" I did not want to write a long fanfiction epic, but the story would not let me go. Following the madness has been quite an experience. Thank you for coming along for the ride._

_Now, the archdemon awaits..._

* * *

6 Bloomingtide, 9:31 Dragon Age. Moor Cleghan, off the West Road.

There were few dice games or drunken songs as might have otherwise cropped up in an army camp. They had only a few hours to rest before the army would march again, and there was little food. Nothing was to be had in Denerim at any price. They had marched too quickly to scour the countryside. The Wardens were counting on there being more food at the other end of the march, in Redcliffe.

Loghain made the rounds of his officers, who were all tired but in good spirits. Despite their misgivings about taking commands from a young Warden, they were glad to have Loghain with them and to be marching, not lingering around Denerim watching their places be usurped by Howe bootlickers. They didn't care that Loghain had no title. They had never cared about that.

There was more trouble on Ellie's side of the camp. Highever and Bannorn forces had joined them on the way west, and there was squabbling. As he passed by, Loghain heard men shouting and Ellie's voice among them, mediating. He had to smile a little. By now she must know that not even the Maker himself had patience enough to lead a Bannorn army. He heard his own name and understood that the argument was about her support of him at the Landsmeet. His smile vanished, but an appearance would surely make things worse for Ellie. She had made her own choices.

Briefly he checked in on the royal tents. Anora had insisted on accompanying the army. Though Loghain was worried, it had not proven a bad idea. She wanted people to see her, to know that she was in charge. All along the march, crowds had come out to see the army pass by. They cheered lightly for the Wardens, far more heartily when they recognized the queen. Loghain would see she stayed in the middle column, well away from any fighting.

Anora was well attended and weary from riding, so Loghain left her and went out. Everyone was tired, and soon even the Bannorn side seemed to quiet down. He found a spot among the Gwaren troops and laid out his bedroll. A squire helped him out of his armor, taking it away to be cleaned. As Loghain was stretching out on his side, he heard a light step behind him and the clink of mail.

"Loghain."

He started, turning. "Ellie. Everything alright?"

In the darkness he couldn't see her face, only her outline. "I'm fine." She hesitated, then said, "I have a tent."

Loghain tensed as he caught the implication. "I'm fine here."

"It's not for you. I'm asking for me."

His brow shot up, but he made no reply. Rolling to his feet, Loghain looked around and brushed himself nervously, then turned to follow Ellie through the camp. His heart was pounding, though he managed to keep his hands from shaking as he helped her undo the straps on her mail. The camp was crowded, and Loghain could feel eyes on them. He ignored the looks.

Inside the small tent, there was hardly room for two. Loghain sat beside Ellie and she put her arms on his shoulders, gazing at him, so close their breath mingled. "Thank you," she said softly. "I'm scared, Loghain. I didn't think I would be, but I am. Fergus is so afraid. So are you, I think."

So that was the explanation. Even if Ellie wanted only his comfort, in the close quarters of the tent there was no way to hide from her that he was already aroused. Acutely aware of the light pressure of her hip against his groin, Loghain swallowed, grasping for a coherent word. To his relief, she said nothing more, only laid her mouth against his, her tongue slipping out a moment later to touch his lips. He groaned and shifted, opening to the kiss. She took charge and he allowed it gladly, too gone with lust to wonder at this turn.

There was something about the darkspawn blood in them. Fergus had mentioned it, blushing like a maid as he explained that the taint accelerated hunger and other physical appetites. It had also been months since Loghain had been with his wife. Whatever the reason, he was straight and hard as an unseasoned youth. Ellie apparently noticed, as well. She slid herself onto him, and gave a yelp of surprise when he grasped her hips to settle more deeply. Afterward he let her move on him as she would, his arm clenched around her waist to help her leverage. The others outside the tent would hear, he knew, but didn't care.

It was over too soon, and even as she shifted to let him slide out, he wanted to do it again. Instead he held her, face laid against her neck and still breathing hard. Ellie stayed close, limbs snaked around him. Loghain stroked her back with one hand, resisting the exhaustion that dragged on him. She turned her face and kissed languidly at his cheek and mouth. Finally she rested her forehead against his cheek and murmured, "I have missed you."

He sucked in a breath. Words were inadequate, so he said nothing. They only had a few hours, and what lay at the end of the march in Redcliffe was uncertain. She needed sleep, they both did, but for once he could not even say the practical thing.

Some time later Ellie stirred and lifted her head. "I spoke with the Grand Cleric. She said you sent her to me."

He had indeed done so, back in Denerim, knowing Ellie would hesitate to seek an annulment on her own accord. It had not been easy. "This is the right thing, Ellie. You know it."

"You understand nothing." Her tone was still slack with tiredness, but reproachful. "All these years you have been with me, made a child with me, and you still don't know me at all."

"I know you too well," he said. Their embrace loosened, and he regarded her across the small space. "You're not going to do it."

"No, I'm not. You want an out, Loghain, and I'm not giving it to you."

"Maker's breath, stubborn as ever." He smiled a little as he said it, touching her face and then resting his hand on her back once more. In spite of his better inclinations, he was glad. None of it was likely to matter anyway. After seeing the darkspawn minions and the archdemon in his dreams, Loghain finally understood the magnitude of what they faced. There was little chance any of them would survive. He had had to plan as if they would, but did not believe it. She might, at any rate. In his dreams now, he saw what his own end would be. If he was afraid, it was for her.

As if reading his thoughts, Ellie said, "I do not give you leave to die for us. I know that's what you want to do now, after the Landsmeet."

"You think the darkspawn will take your opinion into account?"

"I'm not talking about them. I'm talking about you. We need you. Not as a martyr, but as a father, as my husband. I want you back."

The pain of these words was unexpected, and Loghain wished she hadn't said it. "You shouldn't be thinking about this, Ellie," he said wearily. "It will only make tomorrow more difficult. You admitted that you're frightened. If you cling to me, you won't be able to lead your men."

"Don't throw that back at me!" She pushed angrily at his chest. "I know what I have to do tomorrow. I beat you, or have you forgotten?"

At another time he might have been angry, but instead he laughed. It must be the sex, the smell of her skin. In the background of his mind were the whispers of the archdemon. He was drunk on it all, too tired and too close to the frail edge between life and death to be speculative. Somehow, beneath his conscious mind, the idea that Ellie had been his adversary delighted him. "So you did," Loghain replied, smiling, his cock stirring against her leg.

"And maybe I need to remember what I'm fighting for," she added, still arguing.

Loghain shifted under her, wedged a knee between Ellie's legs to open them. She was slick with his fluid and her own. He rolled her to her back, resisting the urge to enter her immediately. Instead he lifted her tunic up with one hand, the other pressing her shoulder back against the bedroll. Hungrily he followed the contours of her belly and then her breasts with his fingers, wishing for a lamp so that he could see her. Under his touch, Ellie relaxed, and he firmed the grasp on one breast, teasing at its point. He bent, nipped at it with his tongue. He would be patient now. This had always been better when he could manage it, this waiting. Only when Ellie was already poised at a brink did he slip his hand between her thighs, circling and stroking her gently until she lifted her hips against his hand and came with a stifled groan. The sound was so arresting that he was tempted to grasp himself and finish it.

Rejecting that notion, Loghain bent down, pressed a kiss to her mouth and slid into her. Even then he checked himself, the satisfaction of holding Ellie beneath him and jabbing into her too good to end quickly. Just for a few moments to be nothing but a man with a woman, not a teyrn, with no duty or argument coming between them, that was a relief he had not thought to have again. Sometimes Ellie had lain quietly when he took her like this, but more often she grappled back, clutching him, and that made it infinitely better. So she did now, urging him on.

Afterward they lay side by side, his arm looped over her shoulder. She was slumped against him, relaxed, the built-up distance between them gone. Loghain kissed at her ear and she mumbled, already sleeping. He reached across to loosen a vent flap and let some air into the tent, then did not fight his own tiredness. It seemed that he had only just closed his eyes when a squire came scratching on the front of the tent, calling for them to wake.

Ellie was quiet as he helped affix her armor, giving him knowing glances. Both of them were shy, remembering their night and feeling hurried into the bleakness of the day before them. There were shouts and grumbling as the men got each other awake and stumbled around trying to remember where the privies were.

"This is fine mail," Loghain said, choosing a neutral topic. "Red steel, isn't it? Not as good as your silverite." That was in Gwaren somewhere, he suspected. Or in Antiva by now, sold off by looters.

"This will do." Her face was hard again, and she glanced across his shoulder, already thinking of all that had to be done.

He caught her chin in one hand, and bent to kiss her, brief and gentle. "Thank you," he said as he released her, meaning to thank her for all that she had said and done that night.

She was silent a moment, tasting her lips, and allowed a hint of smile. "I told you that it was for me, not for you."

"All the same." He hesitated, then sobered and rested his hands on her shoulders. "I don't think it matters, but for what it's worth, I don't want to die. I want to come back to you, since you are so foolish as to have me."

Ellie sighed and nodded. "Thank you, Loghain. It does matter, to me."

Her words cut off as a squire approached and stopped nearby, holding Loghain's armor. Loghain glanced at him, then back at Ellie. He kissed her quickly and said, "I'm glad." They clasped hands and then he let her go.

* * *

Ellie was about to pass by the little chapel and stopped, looking in. A few arlsguard were there, huddled in private prayers. Candles flickered in the dim hall. A maid was fiddling with the brazier. The Revered Mother had been killed in the attack on Redcliffe Castle, the details of which Lieutenant Riven refused to discuss with anyone but Loghain. Thinking about the deaths here, Ellie had a sudden, pained memory of Mother Mallol. It had been long since she had last attended a Chant. The last time had been before the massacre at Highever. It seemed hypocritical to pray now, when all she wanted to do was beg.

They had had a long day's marching down the West Road, and as they neared Redcliffe late that night, scouts went out regularly but returned with the peculiar news that no darkspawn had been seen at all. Only when they got close to the village did the Warden army hear otherwise. There had been battle in the village and around the castle, but Riven's forces had easily prevailed. The bulk of the force was camped at the muster grounds near Rainesfaire, while Anora, Ellie, Loghain and the rest of the Warden party had come up to the castle.

Here they heard the news that Riordan believed the attack on Redcliffe only a feint for a much larger attack, probably on Denerim. Ellie had expected Loghain to grumble about this terrible misjudgment, but he did not. The Joining had made him milder on such matters. The creatures used the Deep Roads, he said, and there were so many of them that they could afford such feints. There was nothing to do but prepare to march back in as much haste as the royal army had come. The men needed rest, however, and the quartermasters needed time to get food. Orzammar's forces had begun arriving but after their long march they also needed time to form up. The officers would spend the night in the castle and hope to march at first light.

A woman's voice spoke at Ellie's elbow as she lingered. "Will you pray with me, Teyrna?"

Ellie turned, startled. She had met Isolde a few times in Denerim and had always found her haughty and distant. Eleanor Cousland had said that these were walls against the mistrust of the other nobles for the Orlesian woman. Isolde did not look haughty now. Her face was lined and her eyes bruised looking and haunted.

"Arlessa. I'm not sure..." Ellie began. Upstairs, Isolde's husband lay in a coma and would likely die, a result of Loghain's actions. That Isolde spoke to her with anything but hatred put Ellie on guard.

"Please. Let us pray for our sons, yours and mine."

Not knowing how to refuse, Ellie nodded once and followed Isolde into the chapel. Before the brazier the arlessa knelt down on one knee and Ellie followed, her armor clanking lightly. It was awkward and painful to kneel on greaves, but she took this as a penance, and clasped her hands together. Isolde began to pray out loud, following the ritual chant. At first she began in the common tongue but as her prayers grew more fervent and personal, she slipped into Orlesian. Ellie listened silently, eyes closed. Her mind turned to the time she had visited the Great Cathedral in Val Royeux. She had missed her son so much then that in an off-guard moment she would start, wondering where he was. Ellie no longer expected to see her son around the corner. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

"Gareth," she said softly, and when Isolde paused in her prayers, Ellie realized that she had said the name aloud. Awkwardly she continued on, "Holy Maker, keep my son. Guard all the children, the helpless ones. When this is over, let them remember how to laugh again and to not be afraid. Keep Connor Guerrin at your side and smile on him. Comfort his mother. Help us fight for all their sakes." It was not much of a prayer, and her voice was shaking. She could think of nothing else, so Ellie stopped, feeling self-conscious, and rose to her feet.

Isolde remained on her knee, but glanced up at Ellie and gave her a sad smile. "Thank you." As Ellie left she heard the arlessa resume her whispered prayers.

Back in her chamber, Fergus was waiting for her. He sat in a chair, elbows on his knees, head hanging. "Brother," Ellie said as she entered, "You look more dismal than I feel. Don't be so hard on yourself. Riordan thought the attack would fall on Redcliffe, too."

"It's not that."

Ellie lifted a brow. "Alright then. While you mope, help me out of this armor."

Fergus rose from his chair and complied. After a moment's silence he said, "You know how even when there's death all around you, coming at you so fast you can't do anything but just lash back at it, how even then you need to feel that there's a limit to it, that there's a line you wouldn't cross? No matter what it cost you or... or someone else?"

"Fergus, you can start making sense any time now," Ellie said, eyeing him. He only shook his head, frustrated. Whatever this was, it was obviously bothering him a great deal. She sobered, and went on quietly, "I don't think that I've told you yet, brother, how proud I am of you for all that you've done. Mother and Father would be proud, too."

His mouth worked briefly. They lifted Ellie's mail shirt over her head, and when she had settled her tunic, she saw that Fergus was staring at her as though trying to size something up. "I saw you and Loghain walking together last night." He waited for her nod before continuing. "When this is all over, do you think that he and you will want to... if you can, I mean. Do you still love him, in that way?"

Despite the gibberish, Ellie understood the question. "I know that it may be hard for others to understand, after everything. I don't know what will be possible, but I do hope that we can have something. I do love him in that way." It felt good to say it. Loghain was too practical, and shouldered too much blame to allow himself to picture a future. Someone had to be the hopeful one.

Fergus was still watching her, considering. He did not look relieved, but eventually nodded, his voice grave. "I see. Thank you. I didn't mean to pry."

Ellie was still puzzled at what this was, but she let it go. Loghain came in while they were finishing with her leg pieces. He and Fergus exchanged a pointed look, and when Ellie noticed, she glanced between the two men and the unease grew. While they discussed whether to leave men behind in Redcliffe, she went in to the washroom to clean herself and dress for bed. Fergus was gone when she came out, and Loghain was sitting in much the same she had found her brother, with his head hanging.

"What is going on?"

"Nothing." Loghain lifted his head and smiled at her. Glancing at the bed, he shifted, looking sheepish. "May I sleep here tonight?"

"Of course."

He rose and went to take his turn in the washroom. While he was occupied there, Ellie brought her pack to the bed and began pawing through its contents, organizing them. Her hand fell on a black vial Neria had given her. It held an elixir meant to give protection against the darkspawn taint. The Warden party had been using up their small store already. Ellie stared at the precious liquid. It made her guilty to think of taking this, knowing that in any fight with the darkspawn, some who survived the battle would die later of Blight disease. She told herself that it was for Gareth's sake that she would.

Loghain came out, tossed his clothes over a chair, and slid in behind her on the bed. Running a finger along her neck, he said, "I could get used to this shorter hair."

Ellie shivered at the touch, but she was not going to let him off so easily. "Tell me what is going on. Why you and Fergus look so glum."

"You don't need to know."

"Stop that, Loghain." Half-turning so that he could see her scowl, she said, "Stop trying to shield me. If we've learned anything from these past months, it's that we can't hide things from one another."

Loghain frowned and the hand stopped its motion, resting on the small of her back. "As you wish." He told her, then, about another Warden secret, about what was required to see the archdemon destroyed for good. Ellie remained still, listening. Of the three in all Ferelden who could do this thing, one was her husband and the other was her brother, the only remaining family she had. It was one thing to think you might die in battle; quite another to know that you could not win unless someone you loved died for you. Ellie wondered if this was what a death sentence felt like, or if it was worse.

"Find more Wardens," she said, mind moving frantically. "Conscript them if you have to."

Loghain shook his head. "Whatever it was they gave me to make me a Warden, there is not enough of it. I got the last."

"What about the Orlesians?"

"It is doubtful they will make it in time." He stroked her back, and Ellie marveled at how calm he was. His expression was sad, resigned, but seemed more taken with looking at her than with what he had just told her. "Don't fret, Ellie," he said, entreating. "One life, that is not too much to trade for destroying this thing. Let's not talk about it anymore. Here, let me see you."

He tugged at her nightdress, and Ellie gave in, though her mind still reeled. His hands grasping her shoulders, Loghain laid her back and rested on one elbow at her side. He swept a hand up her stomach, eyes following the motion and then holding hers as he leaned in to kiss her. After some time of this he stopped and pressed on her side, turning her over to her stomach. His hand moved down and rested at the curve of her bottom, and Ellie heard his breathing grow more ragged.

She swallowed, aroused in spite of herself. He bent and kissed her shoulder and then around to her neck. Finally his hands moved in behind her and opened her legs. The nagging fears receded as lust took them over. By the time she rose to her knees, Ellie held the dragon at bay in a distant corner of her mind, the fear only giving an edge of desperation to it all. They slept a little, then woke and made love again, then slept some more. With dawn gloom filtering in the window, Ellie lay staring at it, and the fear came back in force. She was sore and spent, but when Loghain stirred she held him there, not letting him leave.

"Come on," he said at last, nuzzling at her ear and then rolling away, pulling her hand after him. "Let's get it over with."

With that phrase echoing in mind, Ellie took to the long trudging with a heartsick determination to get past whatever waited for them. When at last they crested a rise in the North Road and saw Denerim burning, a choking anger overtook her fear. The whole army felt it. Only moments before they had been weary and bleak-faced, but now the soldiers roared and shook their weapons in the air. For a time Ellie and the other officers were occupied with holding them back long enough to organize. As Ellie rode back and forth, firming up the lines, she heard calls of "For the Fox!" along with the usual cries for Ferelden and their homes. The men had not called her that since the Landsmeet, but battle anger had erased their resentments.

They held the majority in reserve and took a forward force to clear the field ahead and break through the west gates. Most of the darkspawn were already inside the city. When the first forces had secured the gate, they held there to wait for the rest of the army to come up.

While she waited, Ellie's eyes followed the black shape that careened and whirled over the castle mount. The dragon. Across lines of soldiers, she saw Fergus looking at it, too. Loghain was not. He was huddled with his men over a map of Denerim, pointing and arguing. Turning her eyes back, Ellie watched the archdemon wheel and float in a long dive. It disappeared among the buildings and then soared up again, dark spots falling from its claws back to earth as it rose into the air. Men, Ellie realized. It was tossing men around like chaff. There were shouts of dismay around her, from the other soldiers who had seen. That sound brought Ellie out of her stupor. Loghain was right not to look. The men should not see her afraid. She steeled herself and turned back to get her orders.

* * *

Ellie woke, gasping and choking on her own blood from where she had bitten into her tongue. She clutched at her helmet, tearing it off. _My sword. Holy Maker, where is my sword? _It was nowhere to be seen, but she spotted a discarded blade a short distance away. Crawling towards it across the blood-spattered stones, breath coming in ragged gasps, Ellie swiveled her head to watch for an enemy approach. Not long before the rooftop of Fort Drakon had been crawling with darkspawn, but now she saw only bodies. Sword again in hand, Ellie flipped over and wiped at the muck on her face, trying to figure out what was happening. They had been fighting the archdemon, trying desperately to score the thick hide while fighting off his enraged minions at the same time. Something must have knocked her back, and impossibly far. It was too quiet. There was crying, men groaning out, but the dragon's roar had stilled. Maybe it was already dead.

_Loghain. Fergus. _If the dragon was dead, then so would one of them be. They had seen Riordan fall from the archdemon's back before they even got to the tower.

Ellie fought to her feet and stumbled forward, almost tripping over a wounded darkspawn. It was screeching, a horrible, pitiful sound. With a shout, Ellie drove her sword down through its open maw, silencing it. She moved on. The other darkspawn she saw weren't fighting anymore, only shrieking and running in circles. With a frenzied satisfaction Ellie cut down a few more, making her way up the slope of the roof's floor toward where they had been fighting the dragon.

She saw its hulk lying still. Soldiers, some of them wounded, moved past her toward the stair. "Where are the Grey Wardens?" she shouted. At first none answered, but finally one of the soldiers pointed.

Ellie ran in that direction and saw Fergus bent over, struggling to his feet with the help of a militia man. "Oh thank Andraste," Ellie gasped as she reached him. "Where is Loghain?"

Fergus shrugged and straightened, obviously pained with wounds but standing of his own accord. Together they looked, turning over bodies. At last they found him, lying tossed against the platform wall like a doll. With a shout Ellie ran, knelt to grasp at her husband's shoulders and rolled him to his back. Pulling off her gloves, she brushed at his face, wiping the blood and black darkspawn filth from his eyes.

"Loghain," she said, voice hoarse with fear. "Loghain. My love, wake up." She shook him, willing him to open his eyes.

Fergus knelt beside her, then slowly reached a hand past Ellie's shoulder and put his fingertips to Loghain's throat. A look crossed her brother's face that Ellie could not read and feared to interpret. It might have been amazement.

* * *

4 Kingsway, 9:31 Dragon Age. Highever.

Gareth ran on ahead, up the slope toward the older part of the castle. It was his first time in the vast keep since he was a baby, and just as Ellie and Fergus had done when they were little, he found no end of delight in exploring its hidden corners.

"Don't go too far," Ellie called uselessly.

She caught up to him as he was pushing on the iron grate of the old dovecote. "What is it, mamma?"

"It's where they used to keep the carrier birds before we had a post. And the dinner birds, too, I suppose." Ellie stepped behind him and brought out her castle key, unlocking the grate and pushing on it. It swung back with a rusty groan. Gareth ran in, and Ellie bent to follow him. Autumn sun streamed through the ruined roof and lit the dust kicked up by their footsteps. "Your uncle Fergus and I used to climb here," she said, squinting up to the ceiling.

Gareth had already spied the convenient chinks in the round wall, and began spidering his way up the side. Ellie sat on an overturned barrow and watched him, remembering the day that she and Fergus had almost fallen here. It had been an instructive event for a brash, overconfident young girl. Because of her carelessness, Fergus might have been hurt badly. In the end, she had caught him and they climbed down together, still shaking, each later trying to convince the other they hadn't really been scared. Sometimes, even when you deserved it, the worst didn't happen.

"Come down now, Gareth."

Eventually he obeyed her. Outside, they made their way through the deserted courtyard and climbed up the slope of a collapsed battlement. It had long since been overgrown with a thick carpet of moss, as if the castle would here submit to becoming a hillside. Only at the very top was the worked stone visible, the jutting remnants of a tower. It was on the seaward side of the castle and far below they could see the village, beyond it the harbor with its crowded sails. A cutter was coming in from the Waking Sea.

Gareth ran on a bit, exploring, finally coming back to lean against her shoulder and watch the ship. "Where's it coming from, mamma?" he asked, pointing, then turned serious eyes on her. "From Kirkwall?"

Ellie bit her lip at that name. "Oh, I don't think so. It looks like it's coming in from the east, wouldn't you say?"

"Mm."

She glanced surreptitiously at the boy. His eyes were hers, but with his brow knit and in profile, Gareth was much his father. He had been home only one week and was still more withdrawn than he had been even before the war. It was as if he did not trust that what he saw around him would last. He would not talk about Anya at all.

"Gareth. I want to say something to you," Ellie said quietly. He turned toward her, and she ignored the suspicious look, pressing on. "You know I would never have sent you away except to save your life, don't you? I didn't want to leave you. That was the hardest thing I ever did." Her voice caught and, unwillingly, her eyes filled.

Her son mumbled something and straightened, his face drooping. He clearly wanted to be elsewhere. Quickly Ellie said, "I'm not crying because I'm sad, Gareth. I'm happy. I'm just very happy to have you here with me, that's all."

That was a little safer. Gareth nodded, even allowed a brief smile, and looked up shyly at her. "Your hair is short now," he said, as though noticing it for the first time. "Like Wil's."

Wil was Wilhelmina, Anya's kinswoman, with whom they had shared a hovel in Kirkwall. That Gareth would talk about the place was an opening. Cautiously Ellie took it, asking, "Were they good to you? Did you like her?"

Gareth nodded and shifted his gaze back to the ships. She thought that might be close of the subject, but a moment later he brightened and volunteered, "Wil's got a mabari. Like Cutha, only not as old. And she taught me how to use a sword. I can't hold a real one for too long. Not yet."

"That was very nice of her." Despite herself, Ellie felt a pang of jealousy, and a helpless gratitude. She owed this family everything, strangers who had no reason at all to risk themselves for her little boy. There was no way to repay a debt like this. She felt like crying again, and sniffed, trying to stem it.

A moment later she felt Gareth's finger, grubby and roughened from hard play, brush over her cheek. He was tracing the jagged scar there, his face thoughtful. Ellie had gotten it from the rim of her own helmet mask, smashed into her face by a Bannorn mace. Though the helmet had saved her, she might still have died but for the mages. She held herself still, then smiled at Gareth when his hand fell away. He stood next to her a few minutes more, rocking with nervous boy energy, and finally whirled away and ran up the hillside, shouting as if a berserker army were coming over the battlements. It took some effort to get him back to the family rooms for dinner.

That night, Loghain and Fergus returned to Highever, a week earlier than Ellie had expected them. After the Battle of Denerim, the remnants of the darkspawn horde had fled in every direction, some of them east toward Amaranthine, some west toward Orlais. The Wardens gave chase until they were satisfied the last bands had gone into the Deep Roads. In the meantime Ellie had boarded the first ship she could find going to Kirkwall.

Gareth was already asleep when the men came in, but Ellie took Loghain to look in on him. The boy woke while they stood in his doorway. "Mamma?" he asked, sitting up. His voice was fearful. Nighttime visitors had rarely meant anything good in his experience.

Loghain went forward and sat down on the edge of the bed. When Gareth realized who the figure was, he made a small noise of astonishment and launched into Loghain's arms. A few moments later Ellie was shocked to hear the boy begin to cry. He had not shed a single tear since she saw him on the pier at Kirkwall. Now, the more tightly his father held him, the more fiercely Gareth cried. Still half-asleep and caught off guard, his defenses had fallen. It was right, Ellie knew, but it cut her to the heart to hear this proof of the anguish and lostness of her son's last year. Finally Loghain slipped from Gareth's arms and held the boy's face, kissing the tears from his cheeks, his own eyes streaming.

"It thought you'd die," Gareth said, his voice hitching between sobs. "I thought you'd die."

Loghain shook his head, his own voice strained. "No. No, I didn't die, lieutenant." He pressed an earnest kiss to Gareth's forehead, then held him against his chest until the boy's crying eased.

Gareth refused to go back to bed, so Loghain lifted him up and carried him out to the parlor. Ellie sat with them, listening to Gareth's plapper. When their son had finally fallen asleep against Loghain's side, they talked a while about the darkspawn and the news from Highever.

"Where is Anya?" Loghain asked, his hand ruffling slowly over his sleeping son's hair.

Ellie scowled, so enraged that it took he a moment to answer. When she did, she spat out the words. "The templars took her, Maker damn them all. She was alone at home with Gareth when they came. They took him, too, in case he was a mage, but let him go a few days later. Alun says it's something about Anya's family. The authorities wanted a lever on this woman Hawke."

Loghain looked unexpectedly sorrowful. He glanced down at Gareth, his jaw set. "I'll ask Anora to look into it."

"I have to get her out, Loghain," Ellie said, keeping her voice down so as not to wake the child. "I fought with them as much as I dared, but I was afraid to do more with Gareth still in Kirkwall. That place... even with the Blight, Ferelden is a haven compared to that place."

"Anora will see to it. Come. Let's get him back to bed."

Loghain lifted Gareth and carried him back to his room. Before they got to the hallway again, Loghain caught Ellie and drew her to him, kissing her. Eventually she sank against the wall, taking him with her. Against her ear he said, "I have to go to Montsimmard."

She tensed. It was part of Anora's deal with Redcliffe and the banns, but Ellie had guessed Loghain would be sent somewhere in the Free Marches. Pulling back to look at him, she asked, "Orlais? Is that someone's idea of a joke?"

He let out a wry laugh. "My daughter's, evidently. Anora also asked that you come down for the wedding and that bastard's coronation. She wants to speak with you. I'll leave from there, I imagine."

Ellie's heart sank. The wedding was only a few weeks away. She had known that it could not last, but knowing did not make it easier. Still, they had been spared the worst. It was something. Reaching up, Ellie drew Loghain's mouth down to hers again. There was little time, and none to waste.


	37. Epilogue

_Many thanks to Clariana for allowing me once again to borrow her character Chantal. It will be well worth your time to go read Clariana's newly finished story, _The Dark Ritual_, and her other fine work. –A._

* * *

10 Harvestmere, 9:32 Dragon Age. Imperial Highway, the Orlesian Heartlands.

Chantal swiveled around to look at the riders behind the carriage. Ellie glanced over at the petite blonde woman, then turned to follow her gaze. The carriage was surrounded by a small entourage of Fereldan bodyguards and a larger Orlesian force. Gareth was among them, riding a horse too big for him, having flatly refused to ride with the women in the carriage. Chantal waved at the boy, then turned to look at Josath ap Feil, trying to get his attention. These two had had a small conversation before the party started out, consisting of the princess talking and Jo-jo staring. Now, as he rode, the Fereldan man's eyes remained trained ahead and his expression serious, but his cheeks reddened visibly. That was enough for Chantal.

She turned back, laughing. "I do love Fereldans. When we heard that your queen was sending an ambassador to us, we were so delighted that it should be you, Teyrna Elissa. Grandmère most of all."

"The Empress is very kind." Ellie doubted very much that the Orlesian court was happy to have her in its midst rather than someone more pliable. Perhaps they would enjoy the challenge. For the trip south Chantal had said something about getting out to see the countryside and giving her safe escort, but Ellie suspected that the empress also wanted someone to keep an eye on her and on Loghain. She guessed that the Orlesians saw both promise and risk in having such prominent Fereldans in their midst.

"It is an advantage for your son, too, no?" Chantal asked. "He will receive the finest education."

"Yet grow up hardly seeing the teyrnir he's meant to rule someday. But yes, I expect he'll end up quite the unusual young man."

"This would be true in any case," Chantal replied wisely. It was certainly true. Even after only a few weeks in Val Royeux, Gareth Mac Tir, son of the Hero of River Dane, was quickly learning the Orlesian language. He was quiet, but when in the right mood spoke with worldly authority about his travels in the Free Marches and Ferelden to courtier and servant alike.

The princess' tone turned eager. "Tell me about this new king of yours, Teyrna Elissa. A commoner and completely unknown, can that be true? They say he is handsome."

"I will not argue with that," Ellie said, smiling. She remained silent a while, thinking over how to answer. Most of her impressions of Maric's son were made from afar, watching him first at the Landsmeet and with Fergus, then at the wedding and coronation. She did have a brief audience with him before leaving Denerim. Alistair had been tense, barely concealing his bitterness toward her. He still resented Loghain's survival, all the more because the smallfolk did not. A Mac Tir would also continue to hold a teyrnir. At the celebration of the Blight's defeat, the new king had grandly offered the Hero of Ferelden a boon, and regretted it when Fergus requested that Gwaren remain Gareth's birthright. The note of petulance in his voice reminded her uncomfortably of Cailan.

Nevertheless Alistair had grudgingly admitted to Ellie that Fergus and Loghain saved his life during the siege of Denerim. Fighting against impossible odds after the surprise attack on the capital, the new king and his honor guard had been forced to hole up in a room in Fort Drakon until the Wardens rescued them. Alistair had then joined the fighting in the palace district and acquitted himself well, rallying the defenders.

"He is a warrior above all, our king," Ellie replied finally. "I believe he would have liked to remain one rather than rule a country. That is a something my husband can understand. Such men, they are always soldiers at heart."

"And you are, as well, or not? I still remember your performance at our tournament."

Smiling a little, Ellie shook her head. "No. First a mother, I think. I would not have expected that in my youth, but Gareth changed my mind."

"And your husband, he is content to be a simple Grey Warden, after holding such power in Ferelden?"

"He is content to be alive. I would say that Loghain finds the Warden life agreeable enough. He likes training the young recruits. That is my impression from his letters, at any rate. I have not seen my husband in nearly a year."

"I am eager to meet him, the great man himself." Her enthusiasm seemed sincere. The Orlesians also loved contradictions, and they could romanticize anything. Naturally, there was a limit.

"Not all of your countrymen agree," Ellie replied, giving the princess a pointed glance. "Thank you for your information about the plot on his life."

Chantal frowned and made a soft clucking noise. "These ignorant brutes. These…" She shook her head and muttered an Orlesian curse that Ellie did not understand. "They have no sense of the future, of what can be. Of what _must_ be."

"We have that sort, as well."

"A pity," Chantal replied, sighing. She reached for her flask. "Shall we have some wine?"

The party arrived in Montsimmard toward evening. The princess and her guards turned off toward the country estate of some noble who would house them, and Ellie rode with Gareth and the others on toward the Warden keep. Loghain was not there but would return soon, they were told. Gareth begged to watch the swordplay going on in the practice pit. Ellie left him under the watch of their guard and went out to stretch her legs.

Outside the walls of the keep, the road snaked on a down slope toward Lake Celestine. The waters of the lake were grey, a bank of dark cloud hiding any sunset. A few drops of rain slashed Ellie's face. She found a disused gazebo, weeds grown in around the steps, and took a seat on a stone bench facing out over the lake. For a time she watched the clouds roiling, then reached into her dress pocket and took out Loghain's last letter. There was barely enough light to read it, but she had all but memorized its words anyway.

_Elissa,_

_Shall I start every letter with an apology for not writing more often? Let us call that a given and be done. All is well here, as well as can be. I'll say this for the place, we do get decent recruits. That is likely due to the fact that the Orlesians still do not allow commoners into the ranks of the chevaliers, with few exceptions. I am happy to profit from their stupidity._

_I believe you that you could not find a more suitable tutor for Gareth in Highever than this Chantry brother, but the boy learned more useful skills in Kirkwall than are to be had from such a creature. At least Gareth could win some coin with his new mastery of Wicked Grace. I am only a fair hand at the game myself, but the lad will still never beat me in chess, not if there is any justice._

_As to your plan to spend winters in Montsimmard. It is not a fitting place, Ellie, not for you or the boy. This is a soldier's den and despite its Orlesian airs, a mean one. I can feel your scowl from here. You are a warrior and used to such places. I also admit that your company would be very welcome. The winters are not as hard here as in Ferelden, but the bed is still cold. Nevertheless you would be more comfortable if you stayed in Val Royeux, and it would be better for Gareth's lessons. Think on it. I will not bother to insist. I am well aware, after many reminders, that I am not allowed to forbid you anything._

_L.M.T._

Ellie had begun folding the letter to put it back again when she heard a footfall on the path behind her. She turned to see who approached, then stood, smiling.

* * *

* After defeating the Blight and being hailed as the Hero of Ferelden, Fergus Cousland left the Grey Wardens to assume leadership of his family's teyrnir at Highever. Letters from Weisshaupt inquiring about the unexplained survival of both Fereldan Wardens were returned unanswered.

* Six months after the Blight ended, Warden Commander Neria Surana led a defense at Amaranthine arling against remnants of the darkspawn horde. Though the darkspawn were once again defeated, the ancient port town burned to the ground in the fighting. Many blamed the mage Warden and whispered that it had all been a cover-up for terrible blood magic rituals. The incident and rumors drew templar attention to Vigil's Keep. Neria disappeared shortly thereafter.

* Cormac ap Feil took a mortal wound in the Battle of Denerim. His son Dunnet assumed his title at what was left of the shattered Stedburg. The younger ap Feil would remain a thorn in the crown's side. He did allow a portion of his lands which had once belonged to his mother's family to be portioned off so that it could be re-chartered, with his sister Roslyn as bann.

* Requests from Queen Anora for Anya Amell's release from templar custody in Kirkwall went unheeded. At Empress Celene's intercession, the Divine at Val Royeux agreed to look into the matter, but her many promises bore no fruit. At last Her Holiness agreed to provide Elissa with a written release order in exchange for returning with information on conditions in the troubled city. Ellie made the journey to Kirkwall, but when she arrived was told that Anya had died in the Gallows a few days earlier, under circumstances no one would explain.

* Alun Marwell had remained in Kirkwall, taking work with various mercenary companies, during Anya's imprisonment at the Gallows. After her death, he returned to Denerim and retired from military life. Queen Anora granted him a pension for his many years of service in the Fereldan royal guard.

* Three years after the end of the Blight, Regan Mac Tir was born in Val Royeux. She was eight years old when her father made his last journey into the Deep Roads.


End file.
